


Angel From My Nightmare

by neighborhoodninja



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: College AU, Lots of musical references, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 59,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neighborhoodninja/pseuds/neighborhoodninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU, in which Michael has Big, Serious Problems and Ryan finds what's worth living for in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel From My Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> So I got really really into writing this and it was originally going to be published as a chapter fic, but I decided against it, which explains the very lengthy word count… please try to stick with it. I hope the story delivers in the end :/
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely Chloe! Fic title is from Blink 182's [I Miss You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2yStD2GWhU). [6th Avenue Heartache](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcE0-TRjaHE) by the Wallflowers and [Wedding Song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdvP7l7pGJo) by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs were also very inspirational. Nothing in this fic is real (I don't even know if UMich has an ice hockey team…) and obviously Michael and Ryan were not like this in college, the years of which have been shifted to start in 2013. 
> 
> Also, PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS. PLEASE. There are language triggers, references to rape/non-con, self-harm, and lots of other unpleasant concepts, so if you are uncomfortable with that, DO NOT READ THIS. STOP RIGHT HERE. 
> 
> For Bea, because love is found in the most unlikely of places. :)

Ryan fucks up on November first.

Of course, out of all the wasted frat partiers driving around the edge of campus in the dead of night, the policeman just had to notice _him_.

_"Son, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car. Now."_

It was a fucking steep fine and a DUI, three months into his freshman year at UMich. The Dean was called, the Head was called, his parents were called, it felt like everyone knew. Phi Epsilon was forced to let go of him, as well as Cullen, who'd been in the car with him. 

Three tiny shots of Bacardi, all for this.

But, unlike he expected, the Head didn't expel him. Instead, he took the torture route.

_"Ryan, I expect you to enroll immediately in our Youth Wellness course, actively participate, and complete fifty service hours with a partner from the course by the end of 2013. I think that's adequate payment for what you've done, don't you think?"_

_"Of course, sir."_

_"Good, then. You begin this Friday."_

 

 

 

"Man, I hate this whole fucking thing." Cullen informs him as they stall outside classroom 416. "Fifty hours? And this stupid fucking moral education?"

Ryan just nods and closes his eyes, leaning against the wall. The professor (more like counselor) is still shuffling his papers around on the desk and hasn't let them in. "It's gonna suck. But we'll get through." He offers his fist half-heartedly to Cullen, who bumps it with just as much lack of enthusiasm.

"Yeah, 'cause if we don't, our asses are gettin' kicked out."

Ryan stares up at the ceiling and sighs, trying to just forget about the entire thing. 

The blank look on the policeman's face, the disgusted stare of the dean, the shocked faces of his parents. 

Three goddamn tiny shots of Bacardi.

That's all it took. 

"Oh, hello, boys. Didn't realize you were here. Come in." The counselor suddenly appears at the door, and, like it's timed, five or six more students come filing in from the stairway. They all push past Ryan without a second glance, but he knows better than to overlook that. 

The thing is, if he'd been wearing his Phi Epsilon letter jacket, they wouldn't really have pushed past so much as stepped aside and let him go first.

Oh well. Phi Epsilon probably would've kicked him out sooner or later, if they found out about his little gay discovery over the summer. 

But, with everything happening the way it did, Ryan would prefer not to call that to mind at the moment.

Ryan slouches over to the furthest end of the "Caring Circle" of desks, as the counselor (who introduces himself as Mr. Burns) entitles it. Cullen follows him and they flop down next to each other, Ryan taking the few minutes before class actually starts to observe the people around him. There's three girls who look like they collectively weigh around seven hundred pounds, a short, awkward dude with Bugs Bunny teeth and flaming red hair, a white-blonde girl with too much eyeliner and too little clothing, and a genderless beach-ball looking person. 

Ryan resists the urge to run back to his fraternity and plead for sanctuary, because dammit, his father's a legacy at that place and he looks good in their particular shade of blue.

"Alrighty, class! Let's get started." Mr. Burns says cheerfully, tapping his attendance book as he takes a seat at the head of the Caring Circle. "How about we go around and introduce ourselves, then say one weird fact about ourselves that no one else knows?" Cullen's groan is audible. "Who'd like to go first?"

Bugs Bunny raises his hand. "I'm Trevor Donnelley. I can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue." He proceeds to demonstrate, and Ryan wonders how he could get that tongue all the way around those incisors.

The rather large girls go next. "I'm Annie Fink. I'm double-jointed in the knuckle of my left thumb." "I'm Camila Alvarez. I can speak Spanish." "I'm Tessa Lancaster. I can recite the first forty digits of Pi backwards."

The Avril Lavigne doppelganger chomps her gum, smearing her red lipstick everywhere. "I'm Jen Miller. I hate everything."

"I'm Hugh Lovett." Beach Ball says. "My favorite food is fried pickles dipped in mayonnaise."

Mr. Burns looks expectantly at Cullen. Ryan snickers under his breath. "I'm Cullen Jones. I… swam for my high school."

Ryan rolls his eyes as Cullen bats his eyelashes in his direction. "My name's Ryan Lochte. I don't have any weird facts."

Mr. Burns claps his hands like he's real proud of them all. "Great! We're just missing one person, and that's- "

He's interrupted by the door banging open, and a dude walks into the room.

The first thing Ryan notices is how damn thin he is, like he shoots heroin for breakfast, does a mile of crack for lunch, then washes it all down with a good drag. He looks about Ryan's height, dressed in black jeans, a black Flaming Lips tee, and a black jacket with a white smear across the pocket that might just be coke. 

How charming.

Ryan glances upward and he jumps, because the intensity of the guy's stare is just about searing a hole into him. His eyes, which are a pretty shade of brown and match his sort-of spiky hair, are rimmed with thick black liner that looks like it's been there for a week. 

There's so much anger in them that it makes Ryan scooch back a little, but he can immediately tell that under that anger there's a thick layer of pain. There couldn't not be, judging only by the way the guy looks. 

He's kind of hot in a weird, emo way. If it weren't for the death stare. 

If it weren't for the death stare, he'd be really hot, in fact, and Ryan would probably make out with him.

"Ah, hello, Michael. Have a seat." Mr. Burns says, and it's almost like he and Michael have met before. Michael mutters something under his breath and drops his stuff onto a desk right across from Ryan. "Please, introduce yourself to the class and share a weird fact."

Michael's silent for a moment, adding to the already stone cold quiet of the room that's been so loud ever since he walked in, then he looks up and sees Ryan staring. His eyes narrow, and Ryan can actually feel the force of his glare. 

How charming.

"I'm Michael Phelps." He says, voice raspy and low. "I don't have any weird facts."

 _Huh_ , Ryan thinks as he turns to Cullen, Mr. Burns starting to blather on about something already. But Cullen's eyes are wide and his mouth is slightly open. "What's up with you?"

"Shit. My friend." Cullen coughs. "My friend in Detroit used to go to school with him." 

Michael seems to sense that they're talking about him, because he glowers up at Ryan again, tapping his fingernails against the desk.

"Dude, he's giving me the fucking stink eye, what did I do?" Ryan hisses. Michael's still staring. "What the fuck is up with him?"

Cullen hesitates, then leans in closer. 

"From what my friend told me, apparently… " He drops his voice even lower. "He was like a huge slut. Like, huge. I heard he slept with his teacher once, so he could pass the class."

Ryan's eyes widen slightly, but he fights to keep his gaze down. "Holy shit. That's fucking bad."

"Yeah, and he was really involved in, like, the hard stuff. Not just coke, we're talking smack here."

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah. I just hope he doesn't know who I am."

Ryan tunes back in to Mr. Burns, glancing quickly up and seeing that Michael's stare is less intense now. "And you all know about our special community service project. I'll be assigning your partners until the New Year now." He pulls out a class list with a flourish. "First off, we have Trevor and Hugh." Trevor looks reasonably happy, having found another outcast to have fun with. "Jane and Jen." They glance at each other, nod, then look back down. 

"Tessa, Annie, and Cullen, you'll be working as a three."

Wait.

"Wait, hold the fuck up, what the- " Ryan hisses under his breath, because if he just calculated right, that only leaves him with one person, and-

"And Ryan and Michael."

Michael's head snaps up and he looks livid, jaw clenched as he glares across the circle at Ryan. Ryan just determinedly studies his binder and hopes that the top of his head isn't burned off by now. "Shit. Cullen." He whispers. "I think he's going to kill me, have you seen the way he's looking at me, shit."

"Dude, I know, there's nothing I can fucking do." Cullen mutters back. "And I'm stuck with those two, okay, my life isn't exactly easy, either."

"How about everyone goes and sits next to their partners, then we can talk about the community service plan." Mr. Burns tells them, and Ryan curses silently, picking up his backpack and gingerly placing it down next to Michael. Michael doesn't even acknowledge it, just stares straight ahead. Ryan sits down at the very edge of the seat. 

For the rest of the class, Mr. Burns talks about how the community service will work, how strong a moral foundation they'll have afterward, et cetera, et cetera. Ryan doesn't pay attention, because he's too busy making sure Michael doesn't whip out a knife and slit his throat.

The waves of anger coming from Michael are so strong that it almost scares Ryan. Not that he hasn't had his share of rage-filled phases and times when he just hated everything so much he wanted to die, but for him, they were just phases. Even though Michael still hasn't said a word to him, Ryan feels like this isn't just a phase.

Before he knows it, the dismissal bell is ringing, because this stupid class is the last period he has. The other students start filing out, and Cullen tries to wait at the doorway, but Mr. Burns shoos him away. He turns back to Ryan and Michael and motions for them to wait. "Now, boys, you're the two students who have to do fifty hours, yes? The others have twenty-five."

Michael rolls his eyes. "Yeah." One word and counting.

"Well, I was thinking that you two could get to know each other outside of class, you know? Go get dinner or something. Maybe tomorrow night?"

"Uh, I- " Ryan starts, but Mr. Burns cuts him off with a look. 

"Good, good." Mr. Burns smiles like everything's okay. "I look forward to seeing you two develop. Have a nice day."

The last line almost chokes Ryan, so he stands hurriedly. "Of course, See you, Mr. Burns."

Then he just turns and leaves, because if he spends one more minute in that classroom, he's going to die. But the door slams shut again behind him, and he looks back to see Michael shouldering his backpack. "Hey!" He calls, walking up to Ryan. "You. You're walking me home."

"I." Ryan says, because this is so completely unexpected and what the fuck. "Me?"

Michael just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you. You're walking me home. It's eight thirty and I forgot my mace."

Ryan steps back a little. "I, uh, didn't know you usually carried mace, and I, uh- "

"Just shut the fuck up." Michael says, grabbing him by the arm. For a guy so skinny, his grip is surprisingly strong. "Let's go."

Ryan has no line of defense except to let himself be dragged along.

 

 

"So, um." He says articulately as they walk through the gates of the Michigan campus. "Why are you in the class?"

The entire situation is too awkward to be adequately described, and he has no idea what else he's supposed to say. Michael glances over at him as he steps out on the curb, looking both ways before leading Ryan across the street. "You really want to know that?"

Ryan lags behind a little, mainly because Michael's walking is ridiculously fast. "I, uh, I guess."

Michael stops at the corner, face barely visible in the dark. "I'm trying to divorce my dad, and in order to show the courts that I am a virtuous and responsible minor, the university made me sign up for this bullshit." At Ryan's dumb silence, he adds, "And yeah, it's possible to divorce your parents if they're assholes, but the correct term is legal emancipation."

"Wow. I…didn't know that." Ryan's breath makes a white vapor in the air as he exhales. "I, uh. I thought you were legally emancipated from your parents when you were eighteen, though."

"Yeah, but, due to my unstable condition and self-endangering personal issues, my dad did some fucked-up court filing that gave him possession of me for the rest of my entire fucking life. So, I'm trying to battle him out of it right now and win the courts over."

"Jesus. I'm… sorry."

"Why? He's not _your_ dad." Michael says matter-of-factly as they cross to the next block. "Also, there's someone following us. Don't turn around."

Of course, Ryan turns around, and sees a guy in a hoodie walking about twenty feet behind him. "Shit."

"I told you not to turn around, fuckwit." Michael hisses, pulling Ryan to the other side of him. "I'll handle this. Stay there." Ryan starts to protest, but Michael says, "Shut the fuck up too, how about that," and he falls silent.

Everything Michael's said and done in the maybe-half-hour they've known each other screams "I have had a Horrible Childhood and a Misguided Adolescence and I have Big Problems." The simple brashness of his personalty that he's managed to broadcast is a little overwhelming. Ryan can't help but let his mind wander to what Cullen told him earlier as they watch the guy get closer, until he stops in front of Michael. 

"Hey, Michael." The guy says, flipping his hood down so his rather brutish face is revealed. "How you doing?"

"Hi." Michael steps forward, obviously trying to cover Ryan up. "Fuck off."

"Aw, c'mon, sugar. You know you don't mean that. You didn't mean that last time, how could you mean it this time?" The guy puts a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Look at you." He glances around Michael, grinning in the darkness. "Who's this you're fucking around with now- "

Whatever he was going to say gets cut short by Michael's kick to his crotch, and the guy howls, cupping his balls. Michael shoves Ryan away so he lands next to the nearest hedge, but by then, the guy's straightened up, and he goes for Michael. "Fuck you, you little shit- " Ryan can hear him growling, then Michael screams, and there's a sound of fabric ripping. "HE'S HARASSING ME! THERE'S A FUCKING SEX PREDATOR HERE!" Michael yells, then headlights sweep over them, and the guy is suddenly gone. 

Ryan struggles his way up, brushing leaves off his jacket, just as a cop car screeches to a halt in front of Michael. They're always crawling around campus, and Ryan's relieved to see it's not the same officer who caught him as he steps out of the car. "Sir, are you alright?" The cop says, moving to put a hand on Michael's shoulder, but Michael shrinks away.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Michael says under his breath, like he doesn't want the cop to know who he is. "Come on, Ryan."

But the cop looks closer at him, and smiles in a way that doesn't look like he has good intentions. "Oh, hey, Michael. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Please leave me alone." Michael mutters, grabbing Ryan's sleeve and pulling him closer. "We're- "

"If you're free tonight- "

"FUCK OFF." Michael tells him, then stalks off, dragging Ryan with him again. 

Ryan tries to process all of what happened as they walk away, what Cullen said still spinning around in his skull, but he can only come up with one thing.

_So he really is like that._

"And that is why I wanted you to walk me home." Michael says, lifting his hands to his mouth and breathing onto them. "Fuckers like that should burn in hell."

"Y-yeah." Ryan says, still not entirely sure why his heart is still pounding.

They walk in silence the rest of the way, until Michael turns at the path leading up to a ratty little duplex with a used condom thrown onto the bush in the front. "My roommate Ben and his girlfriend."

"I see." Ryan follows Michael up the steps, a little numbed by everything just happening at once. He wonders if Michael can even walk down the street without…well.

It's not like being around someone who's gone down the wrong path is new to him. But there's something different about Michael, some harsh sense of reality that he's somehow managed to convey in less than an hour, that makes Ryan have to stop and think.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, asshole." Michael says quietly, flicking on the porch light and eyeing Ryan. 

"You- I- "

"Maybe if I'm really that much of a whore, you can come inside and get some, too, like those guys out there. Is that what you want?" Michael's voice has turned bitter. "I bet that's what you want now. Because you're gay." At Ryan's shocked look, Michael smirks. "Yeah, I can tell. If that's what you want, you can fuck off, because I'm not like that anymore, and also, it's a fucking rumor. But if you really want it and you decide you're going to go ahead and rape me like that first asshole did, do it quietly so we don't wake up the neighbors."

Ryan is so stunned that it takes him around eight and a half seconds to remember that he should probably answer.

"No."

Michael raises an eyebrow. "No what?"

"That's not what I want." Ryan can hear himself speaking, but he doesn't feel like he's the one in charge. "I don't even know you. How could I want that?"

"Because I know that kid sitting next to you told you about me, and when most people find out, they take it one way or another."

"I guess I'm not really most people, then, because even though I kinda think you're hot, I'm not going to rape you, and I'm not going to touch you unless you want me to, and even then, I don't know." Ryan blurts, and he winces, wishing he could go back and redo that entire statement. 

Michael doesn't say anything for a while, but when he does, what he says sticks in Ryan's head for a long time afterward.

"Well, I wish there were more people like you, then."

"I. Uh."

"At least, so far." Michael eyes him. "I don't know about you yet, but I guess I can trust you not to rape me. Therefore, you're a good kind of asshole, not a bad kind of asshole."

"I… I suppose so." Ryan stutters. 

"Night, then." Michael says, slamming the door shut behind him, and Ryan's left to just think about who the hell this guy really is and why his heart still hasn't stopped beating so goddamn fast.

 

 

 

The next day, Ryan wakes up half past noon, and the first thing on his mind is Michael, and how they're supposed to go to dinner that night. He checks his phone and sees that Mr. Burns has even sent him a reminder about it. 

"Okay." Ryan says to himself, dimming the screen so his roommate isn't too annoyed. It looks to him like Burns is trying to set them up for a date more than let them "get to know each other."

He mopes around his dorm and studies, because there's no frat house to go to anymore. He knows if he even tried to set foot in the place, he'd probably be arrested again. 

He'd been doing a good job concealing his gayness, and he probably could have kept it up. It was concealed from his parents, so Ryan had to pat himself on the back for that, even though they would probably accept it as it is. He just doesn't want to take the risk. Ryan's the type to take risks, but not that kind of risk.

Before he knows it, it's six o'clock and he has no idea where they're going, what he's going to do, what he's going to say. Ryan decides not to count the other day as actual social interaction. 

He showers and bundles up in as many layers as he can find, because Michigan doesn't take the transfer of fall to winter very well. Ryan clatters down the stairs, checking his Facebook on his phone as he crosses the campus green. A lot of people have left him encouraging messages, but some just call him an idiot. Ryan hasn't responded to any of them. 

"Hey! You!"

Ryan closes his eyes briefly, collecting his poor shreds of sanity, and turns around to see Michael's stick figure heading toward him. Some girls standing nearby titter and whisper to themselves, and Ryan assumes that pretty much everyone on campus except him knew about Michael's reputation before now. "Uh, hi." He's a tiny bit embarrassed, but who really cares after everything that's already happened.

"Burns said you're taking me out." Michael says, coming to an abrupt halt in front of him. Once again, he's all in black, another band t-shirt (this time it's Radiohead) and the same smudgy eyeliner on his eyes. He still looks like he hasn't slept in a couple decades. "Sounds to me like he's setting us up for a fucking date."

Ryan laughs. "Yeah, I got that impression, too."

"Anyway." Michael surveys the green. "We're not going to any campus restaurants, because I hate all of them. So I'm thinking west side Ann Arbor, there's a cute little ramen joint." 

"Uh, sure." Ryan blinks a couple times. "Let's, uh, get going then."

They sit and wait for the bus in silence, and Ryan finds that whenever Michael shifts next to him, the side of his body does that weird skin-prickly thing. "So, according to Burns, we're going to get to know each other." Ryan supplies. 

"Well." Michael looks over at him. "You start."

"Okay." The bus pulls up in front of them and Michael swipes his card, then Ryan. They sit in the back. "I'm Ryan Loch- "

"Yeah, dipshit, I got that far. Gimme something else."

Ryan clears his throat. "Uh. Well. I guess I like that band on your t-shirt. I thought OK Computer was pretty good."

Michael smirks. "Really. Continue. Let's discuss the musical prodigiousness of Thom Yorke as we slowly sink into each others souls and find that yes, we both fucking like British invasion bands."

Ryan has no clue how to respond to this, and he reasons with himself that Michael is probably high. Or maybe he isn't, and this is just his version of normal. "I, um. I used to be with Phi Epsilon- "

"Before you got your DUI." Michael nods. "Everyone knows, but that's just so incredibly shitty. Like, I bet there were a couple trillion other frat cows hauling their drunk asses around campus that night, and that shitty cop had to pick your ass out of all the other asses. It's so shitty." An old lady looks up and frowns, muttering "Language!" under her breath. Michael ignores her.

"Yeah, I know. But they said they might take me back after I get all this done. Even my friend Cullen got off easier than I did."

"That dude sitting next to you who told you about me?"

Ryan blinks. He's starting to realize Michael's tactic (if it even is one): be so abrupt that he knocks the truth out of people. "Yup. That guy."

Michael motions for him to get up as the bus pulls to a stop and they step off through the side door. "And did you believe him?"

Ryan just doesn't answer this time.

"You can tell me. I won't bite." Michael says cynically, turning a corner and pulling Ryan along with him until they stop in front of a tiny Japanese restaurant. "Here." A lady greets them and shows them to a table off to the side, where they sit across from each other. 

"Anyway." Ryan attempts to change the subject. "I guess that's the end of my turn. Yesterday… " He sighs. "Okay, how about we just start again. How about you not assume I'm going to rape you, and just talk to me about your life like a normal person."

"How about that sounds okay to me, just shut up for a minute while I think about how to deliver this." Michael mutters, signaling to the waiter. He comes over and opens his notepad. "The kitsune udon, please."

Ryan glances hurriedly down at the menu and picks the first thing he sees. "I'll have the, uh, sukiyaki." 

When the waiter moves away, Michael regards Ryan with something he can't place. "Okay. Get your fucking brain ready."

"I mean… " Ryan sighs. "It's just, why are you the way you are? You know. Kind of… "

Michael's eyes narrow. "Why am I so rude? Why am I so abrupt and awful and kind of PMSy but you can still somehow talk to me?"

"You're just… " Ryan searches for the right way to phrase things. 

"You're just not the kind of person I usually hang out with, that's all. You're… well."

Apparently this is the wrong thing to say.

"Yeah, poor slutty me doesn't get the chance to hang out with people like you." Michael practically spits, taking a drink of his water and slamming it down on the table. He stares coldly up at Ryan. "So you think that's all I am? Is that all you see? Well, take a look in the fucking mirror and do some self-examination, asshole, and you'll see what I see, which is another fucking disgusting frat boy whose brain is made up of porn and football. And what do you see? You see a crazy little slut based entirely off of rumors. You see someone who you heard slept with his teacher just to fucking pass. Yeah, fucker, you do, but maybe that's how I like it. And you can back the fuck off my case."

The entire restaurant is silent, and Ryan is, too.

After a good ten seconds, he manages to get something out. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. I promise I'm not going to ask about it anymore."

Michael smiles dryly at him. "No. It's fine, I can tell you're just dying to know. And FYI, I did sleep with my teacher. When I was a junior."

Ryan's heart is starting to pound again, because he honestly has no idea how to deal with someone like Michael. "I'm sorry. I was really fucking rude. You don't even have to talk to me."

"Thank you for admitting that." Michael says, staring him down. "Now, I'll get on with it, because we're all fucking jolly now. I'll start with the eyeliner, how about that?"

Ryan shrugs. "Okay."

"When I was fifteen, I discovered that when I wore it, less guys tried to grope me. And if I dressed all in black and did the liner thing on top of that, I'd look really fucking unapproachable, therefore, less guys would try to grope me." Michael taps the side of his head. "See? Smart, yeah?"

"I… I guess."

"Anyway, a year before that, my mom took my sisters and left me with my dad." Michael rolls his eyes. "And here comes the quintessential divorce kid story. See, there's like, this thing about divorce kids. There's two ways they can go: depressed suicidal or survivor soldier. Which one do you think I ended up with?"

"I would say the first one."

"Ding ding, we have a fucking winner. My dad hung out with all the wrong people, and when they saw that I'd reached the luscious and nubile age of fourteen, they decided I was ready and available." Michael looks down, swirling his ice around his glass. "So, all this shit started happening around then." 

"Wow." Ryan doesn't really know what to say. "I'm… really sorry that happened."

He's heard so many stories like this before, but he's never met a story like Michael in person. And in all the books and health and wellness courses, the victims always regain their strength and battle their way out of their problems and end up peachy keen, sitting on piles of cash drawn from their "nonprofit" teen rape organizations. Ryan admits to himself that it's completely unrealistic, but seeing someone like Michael just makes it more so.

Because he's absolutely right. There's two ways divorce kids can go, and only two. And one of the two takes seventy-five percent. The other twenty-five are just the lucky ones.

"Yeah, it was the worst when I was fifteen, when my dad started having his friends over at the house every fucking night. He thought he could make some cash off me sometimes, when he got really fucking drunk." The waiter comes back with their food and sets it down in front of them, but neither of them touch it. 

Ryan's mouth fills with a sour taste, and even though he's never met this guy, he kind of wants to beat his brains out. Even though he doesn't even know Michael, no father should ever do that kind of thing to their kid. "Oh my god. I… I can't even pretend like I know how that feels, but I am so sorry." He frowns. "You never got help?"

Michael laughs, the sound weird and harsh. "God, no. He would have murdered me. But anyway, that's enough about my poor troubled childhood. I don't want to spill all the deets quite yet."

"It's just… couldn't you go anywhere else? I mean, that's… that's really bad."

"No, I couldn't, dipshit. My mom didn't tell me where she was going, but wherever it was, it was a hell of a lot better than where I was." Michael stirs his noodles around silently. "That's enough, though, okay? We have to talk about our community service."

Ryan snorts. "Ha, yeah, I don't really give a shit about that. I'll probably just lie."

Suddenly, Michael's head snaps up and he glares up at Ryan with a kind of pure hatred that freezes Ryan in place. Ryan barely remembers Michael telling him the other day that he had to get the hours done in order to separate from his father. 

So that, also, was the wrong thing to say. 

"Oh, fuck you." Michael mutters. Ryan's heartbeat picks up again. "You really are an asshole, aren't you? Is this all about fucking me over or something?"

"No, no, Michael, it's not, oh god, no. I didn't mean it like that. I didn't even know about your… I didn't know about you or anything, please… " Ryan tries, but Michael's face is darkening. "I just heard what Cullen told me, there's nothing else to it, and- "

"Oh, sure, and you fucking believed him, didn't you? Thought that was real fucking cool, didn't you?" Michael laughs, throwing his head back. "You don't GIVE A SHIT! HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Michael, please- " Ryan starts, but Michael cuts him off. 

"Was it the eyeliner? It's always the eyeliner that people judge, isn't it? Is that why Cullen told you?"

"No, you just kind of look like- " Ryan begins. 

He catches himself, clapping a hand over his mouth, but it's too late. Michael's eyes widen.

Then he explodes.

"FUCK YOU! I OPENED UP TO YOU AND YOU TREAT IT LIKE SHIT!" Michael scrapes his chair backward, puts both hands on Ryan's shoulders, and shoves. Everyone's staring at them now. "YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE AND YOU HAVE NO FUCKING BUSINESS TELLING ME ABOUT MYSELF! YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME, YOU PRESUMPTUOUS LITTLE FUCKING FRAT BOY! I HAVE SOMETHING TO FUCKING PROVE, OKAY?! DO YOU?!" Michael screams, then, out of nowhere, he slams his hand down on the table, their glasses spilling over the edge and clattering onto the floor. 

Then he throws his thin jacket around himself and stalks out, slamming the door behind him. 

"Shit." Ryan mutters under his breath, getting up. His legs are shaking and his stupid heart won't stop pounding. "Take this and keep the change." He tells the dumbfounded waiter, throwing fifty dollars on the table. Then he rushes out the door and into the cold street, looking around for Michael.

Ryan sees a black figure heading down the block, coat thrown carelessly over its shoulders, and he runs toward it. By the way it speeds up as he approaches, it's Michael. "Wait! Michael!"

"FUCK OFF!" Michael skids to a halt under a streetlight and turns, keeping his face angled down. Ryan stops a safe distance away from him, but drifts closer as Michael catches his breath, white vapors puffing in the air. "I don't want to fucking talk to you, okay?"

"Michael, please, let me… " Ryan doesn't even know what he wants to do. "Look, I'm really sorry. I'm a rude asshole. I'm so sorry. I- "

"Shut up." Michael mutters, wiping his face. Ryan digs around in his pocket for a tissue and hands it to Michael. It's streaked with black when Michael pulls it away. "Shut up."

 _Oh, shit, tears,_ Ryan thinks, awkwardly standing in front of Michael as he wipes his eyes. "Hey. Hey, don't cry. I'm sorry." Ryan tries, taking the ruined tissue from Michael. "That was really rude. I know this is important to you, I don't know why I said that. And the other thing."

"Yeah, well, you did." Michael says under his breath, sniffling. He looks accusingly at Ryan. "Buttface."

"I am. I feel so bad, you don't even understand." Ryan says, and he finds that he means more of it than he usually would, watching as Michael shivers. "Here, you want my coat?"

"No, I want your coat, and your scarf, and your gloves."

"Okay."

Michael composes himself after Ryan's properly stripped of anything warm that he's wearing, rubbing his eyes. "You're still an asshole, but most assholes wouldn't have apologized." 

"Glad I did."

"Just remember that you're an asshole until I think better of it." Michael glares up at him, a small trail of black running down his cheek. "Anyway, you're taking me home again. For payback."

"No problem. I'm so sor- "

"Forget about it."

A conveniently arriving bus pulls up at the corner, and Michael takes Ryan's arm and leads him up to it. "Come on."

Ryan gets the feeling he's going to be dragged around a lot until the end of 2013, and maybe even long after it's ended, but he can't explain why.

 

 

 

Michael's silent all the way back to the Michigan campus, but at least he's not screaming at Ryan and ruining restaurants. Ryan takes the time to study him out of the corner of his eye, so he doesn't look like too much of a creeper.

Michael really is cute, but with a single glance, anyone could tell that he needs help. His cheeks, his kind of big ears, and the tip of his nose are red from the cold, and he just looks like a bunch of clothes, all bundled up in Ryan's stuff. His thigh barely spreads out on the seat and looks even skinnier in the black fabric of his jeans, which Ryan seriously believes could be a kid's size if he wasn't so tall. 

Michael's deep brown eyes eventually flick up to his and narrow, and Ryan pretends he's suddenly intrigued with the bus's ceiling.

"Okay, yeah, stop checking me out." Michael mutters.

"I'm seriously not, I'm just… "

"Uh-huh."

They get out at the next stop and Michael takes the same route back to his house. Luckily, there's no perverts hanging around that night. When they reach the duplex, Michael stops and hands Ryan his coat, scarf, and gloves.

"Here."

Ryan takes them, taking care not to touch Michael's hand. "Sorry I was a jerk."

"Yeah, well, you're not really that much of a jerk now." Michael says, hand on his doorknob. "Goodnight."

"Wait, I'm not a jerk?" Ryan splutters, but Michael just turns away and steps into his house.

"Maybe yes, maybe no."

 

 

 

Ryan wakes up on Sunday to a loud banging on his room's door, and luckily, his roommate's crashed at some other place. He struggles out of bed and makes his way to the door, flicking on the lights. 

When he opens it, Michael's standing outside, tapping his Doc Marten-d foot impatiently. "You're fucking lazy, huh?"

"What." Ryan mumbles, glancing blearily at the clock. "It's eleven. Why are you even awake. Why are you at my dorm, how did you even find out where I am. Why are you here."

Michael makes a dismissive noise and raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to let me in or not?"

"Michael, I'm still in my boxers, I literally just got up- "

"Out of the way." Michael just barges in, pushing past Ryan and dumping his backpack on the bed. He sits on the edge and tosses his black boots in a corner, revealing socks that are, of course, black. "Okay, we need to get some shit straight."

Ryan sighs and goes to flop onto the chair at his desk, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Shoot."

"First off, you're gay. And last time I checked, fraternities aren't really cool with that." Michael eyes him. "You said they might take you back, right?"

Ryan doesn't really like the direction this is going, especially how Michael can just discern a person's sexuality basically without even knowing them. "Uh. Yup."

"Well, listen." Michael glances up at him. "I'll make you a deal. I'll keep quiet to Phi Epsilon about you, but you have to cooperate with me on this whole service hours thing. Okay?"

"What? Hold on." Ryan frowns. "I mean, you can't just fucking blackmail me- "

"They're going to find out one way or another, even if I don't tell them." 

Ryan just looks at him. "But I still don't need your help."

Michael makes a noise that sounds like pure anger, and Ryan curses himself again for not having a stupid goddamn filter. 

"Well, I just might need yours, fucker! Do you even remember what I said last night? Or are you that indifferent? I have to do this, and you're going to fucking help me, understand?"

Ryan sits in shock for a few seconds, then he stammers out a "Yeah. Okay. Please calm down."

"Jesus fucking Christ, do I have to make you pinky swear like a four-year-old that you're going to follow through with this?" Michael shakes his head. "I can't believe it's taking you this long to figure out that we're basically stuck together for the rest of this year, asshole. Have a little compassion and don't make me tell you again."

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry." Ryan takes a deep, calming breath. "I swear on my frickin' hamster's grave that I will cooperate with you. As long as you don't tell Phi Epsilon about me. Deal?"

Michael looks at him expectantly, and Ryan rolls his eyes, holding out his pinky. "Deal?"

"Deal." Michael links their pinkies together, then wipes his hand on his jeans. "Don't wanna get douchebag viruses." Ryan sighs. "Now, is there anything else you wanna know about my tragic past before I go, because it's all going to come out sometime."

"Um."

Ryan actually wants to know everything, because it's impossible not to. Michael is such a case that anyone's bound to be curious. But he doesn't want to be rude and set Michael off on another explosion. 

"So, why, uh… " Ryan searches for the right way to ask. "What are you going to argue to the courts? About your dad, I mean." It's probably the dumbest and most intrusive question anyone could ask, but he feels like somehow Michael can tolerate his intrusiveness more than his stupidity. 

Michael's silent for a moment, then he looks up at Ryan with something he can't read in his eyes. "Well, I don't have enough money for a lawyer, but I'm feeling exploitation of a minor, sexual assault, multiple tolerations of rape of said minor by others, indecent exposure and abuse of said minor, theft, et cetera. All that good stuff that happened before college." 

"Ah. That, um… I bet you're going to win, you know." Ryan mumbles, not knowing what else to say. "But you have to be able to support yourself, right? In order to fully separate from your parents."

"Yeah, dude, I have a job. And I'm on full scholarship here, so."

"Oh. Wow. Oh man." Ryan feels like he's peeling back more layers with each question answered. "You're, uh, pretty damn smart, then."

"Statistics major, assbutt. Of course I'm smart." Michael smiles, and Ryan finds himself thinking that it looks good on his face. He just can't imagine Michael sitting in a cramped little classroom, studying charts and analyzing trends. "And I work at Solar Powered Angel Vacuum Records downtown so I can eat and like, be alive." At Ryan's look, he laughs. "Don't ask about the name, my boss is a stoner. But you should check it out sometime, it's the most fucking adorable vinyl shop in the history of this galaxy."

Ryan snorts. "I think you're just trying to solicit business, but I guess I have to now." Michael shrugs, a small grin still on his face. "But seriously, I think for all that stuff about your dad, you're going to get what you want. If he's, you know, as bad as you say he is."

"Well, thank you, and I'd better fucking win, or I'll be pissed as shit that he still owns me and stuff. See, like, parents basically own their kids, even after they're technically adults." Michael's eyes darken. "Like, I just hate that feeling of being some fucking possession to be traded and carted around, you know? It's fucking unfair."

Ryan wonders if Michael really is always like this, just spouting out these things that could be considered utterly profound by some, but might just be everyday banalities to him. It's a little overwhelming. "I, um, I can't say I really relate, 'cause my childhood wasn't all that bad. But I hope you're, y'know, okay now and all."

Michael stares at him for the longest time, then throws his head back and laughs. "Do I look okay to you, Ryan?" 

Ryan just sits and tries to come up with an appropriate reply, but all he gets out is, "Look, did you eat anything today?"

Michael looks at him like he's just sprouted an extra limb. "What, so now I'm fucking anorexic?" He scoffs, and Ryan shakes his head numbly. Even though he doesn't really doubt it.

"No, it's just that I'm getting really hungry, and this is getting so awkward for me because you definitely aren't okay, and I kind of want to help you, and usually food helps." Ryan blurts all at once.

Michael just stares, then he gets up abruptly and crosses to the window, facing away from Ryan. "Okay, also, for the deal. You can't, like, try anything just because of what you hear. Even though you already said you wouldn't, I want you to promise again. Okay?"

"I'm not going to do that. Don't worry. I'm trying to, like, help you now. Not rape you."

"Okay. Okay." Michael's voice sounds a little strange, and he turns back around. "Now, about that food."

After Ryan's heated up two bowls of instant ramen, Michael blazes through half of one and then abruptly stops, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth in a way that could pass for being polite. If he was polite in the first place. "Thanks. Now, I gotta get to work."

"What? You're just gonna- " Ryan starts, but Michael's already standing up. 

"Later, asshole."

And just like that, he's out the door and gone.

"God." Ryan mutters to himself, stirring his noodles.

 

 

The Youth Wellness class is the last one on Wednesdays and Fridays, so Ryan tries to get any extra work done before Wednesday. Currently, his accounting course is busting his ass, and it seems like the school itself is trying to kill him just before Christmas break. 

Wednesday sort of creeps up on him, and Ryan finds himself stumbling into classroom 416 five minutes early. But when he drops his stuff down, he doesn't see Cullen. Ryan goes out into the hall and calls him.

"Dude, I know. I'm sorry." Cullen says the moment he picks up. "But they let me out of it."

"WHAT?! The class?" Ryan asks incredulously, looking around to make sure Burns isn't around. "What the fuck? Why?"

"They decided it was really all your fault, since you were the one driving, so I just have to do ten hours of service." Cullen snickers. "Which I got done over the weekend."

"FUCK. YOU." Ryan hisses, then hangs up and stomps his way back into the classroom, feeling like a wave of pissed-off has just engulfed him. Jen says hi to him as she walks past, and Ryan just grunts.

Michael comes in afterward looking like his problem-ridden self and, since the only empty seat is next to Ryan, plops his backpack down. "Someone's pissed at the universe." He tells Ryan, eyeing him. Ryan wants to say that Michael doesn't exactly look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed himself, but he refrains.

"Yeah, 'cause my butt of a friend just ditched me." Ryan mutters, flipping his pencil between his fingers. 

"Well, maybe he's not really your friend, then." Michael says, and that shuts Ryan up until Mr. Burns comes in. 

"Alright, class. Today, you and your partners will be planning out your community service projects, and we'll discuss Maslow's hierarchy of needs." Mr. Burns's annoying smile is plastered to his face. "I'll come around and check on your progress."

After a uselessly long introduction, Mr. Burns hands out project sheets and disappears behind his computer, probably watching porn or something, Ryan thinks. Michael takes their sheet and writes their names at the top in neat, small handwriting that Ryan definitely wouldn't expect coming from someone who looks the way Michael does.

"Okay, fifty hours. Pretty much a month and a half." Michael looks over the sheet. "What places are we going to do the stuff at? Oh my god, no, wait, he has a fucking list of suggestions. Look at this." 

Ryan looks over the list, which has to have at least three hundred places. "Well, I think ASPCA would be good. Play with dogs and cats and shit."

"Yeah, well, we're also going to have to scoop their shit. But I guess that's not that bad, if you take out the whole shit-scooping part." Michael says, writing it down in their list of organizations. "It'll do. How about… " He studies the list. "How about the Ypsilanti Children's Center? It's, like, needy kids and toddlers and you just, you know, entertain them."

"Okay. Where's Ypsilanti?"

Michael just looks at him. "So you're not from Michigan."

"Florida's where it's at." Ryan says, grinning. "You?"

" _Detroit's_ where it's at." Michael counters. "Your Miami mansion ain't got nothing on my dad's three-fucking-room East side apartment. It builds character."

"Gainesville, actually, and I'm not so sure about that. Is your campus house better?"

"Yeah, kinda. Mostly because my dad isn't included. Anyway, you pick next."

So now Michael is the tough Detroit kid, and Ryan's the Florida-privileged-pretty-boy, a feeling he didn't get that much when he was hanging out with Phi Epsilon. It's different, and a little disconcerting. "Uh. How about a homeless shelter? There's one in… is this East Side?"

"Yup. That's a nasty part, but whatever."

"Wow, great."

Michael writes down the Children's Center and the homeless shelter, then folds the sheet in half and brings it to Mr. Burns. "Here." Mr. Burns doesn't even look up from his computer, just mumbles something, so maybe he really is watching porn.

Michael comes back to his seat and flops down, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I'm going to pass out."

Ryan, even though he doesn't really know the guy, feels like Michael's not kidding. He feels like Michael doesn't kid about a lot of stuff. "Uh, why?"

And even though he shouldn't feel like he knows Michael, Michael just gives off this strange vibe. Like once you start talking to him, it's sort of hard to stop, because what he has to say is either going to be so insulting you have to fire something back, so sad that you can't help but ask why, or so goddamn overwhelming that you can't just not listen.

"I think I did too many lines last night, shit, now it's fucking catching up to me." Michael gets up. "Puke time."

Oh.

Usually, Ryan just sticks with weed and leaves it at that. He's tried a line of coke and felt like he was going to die, right then and there, so maybe he's just not meant to handle the harder stuff, but coke isn't all that hard. He's just made a promise to himself never to do meth or smack, because if he couldn't do coke, he couldn't do that shit.

Michael comes back from the bathroom a couple minutes later, looking seemingly indifferent, and sits back down just as Mr. Burns gets up and starts drawing a pyramid-shaped thing on the board. "What?" He says when Ryan looks at him for maybe longer than normal.

"Nothing, nothing." Ryan mumbles, and Mr. Burns clears his throat to get their attention. He starts jabbering away about the stupid pyramid thing, which he calls Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.

"This first level here is the most basic: food, shelter, water, warmth, et cetera. The second is security, a job, and insurance. The third is the social needs: a sense of belonging, a family, love. The fourth is esteem: goals, accomplishment, a feeling of self-worth. And this last one is your self-awareness, and your personal growth." Mr. Burns smiles down at all of them. Trevor raises his hand. "Trevor?"

"So, what's this called again? The pyramid thingy?"

"Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs." Mr. Burns says patiently. "Now, I'm going to pass out pyramids to all of you, and you'll cross off the levels you possess, or have accomplished. Write about what you've accomplished next to the level. And leave what you don't feel so sure about blank."

Ryan looks down at his sheet and immediately crosses out the first, second, and third levels, but leaves the fourth blank, because yeah, he has a fucking DUI and he's not exactly sure his self-esteem is running at a record high. But it's not like his life sucks. 

He glances over at Michael's and sees that only the first one is crossed out. 

Michael catches him looking and narrows his eyes. "Is there antagonism between you and my Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs?"

"No. No. Not at all." Ryan looks away. "It's just, you have a job, right?"

"Yeah, and Solar Powered Angel Vacuum Records really provides health benefits."

Ryan shuts up then, and Mr. Burns starts making his way around the room, checking on their Needy Pyramids, as Michael fondly dubs them. He scans Ryan's, nodding, then gets to Michael's. 

"Michael, what is this?"

There's a whole load of silence, and when Ryan looks over to see what's wrong, Michael looks pissed. "You know goddamn well what it is."

Ryan's mouth hangs open slightly, but it looks like Mr. Burns isn't even fazed. "Michael- "

"Shut up. Shut up. I can't even see how you're talking to me about this, asshole, I don't even see how you're talking to me." Michael spits, standing up and shoving his chair backward. "Fuck you and all your stupid goddamn needy pyramids, you're the one who needs to get a life. I hate you."

The entire classroom is deadly silent, and the only sound is Michael slamming the door shut behind him as he walks out. Mr. Burns just sighs heavily and takes Michael's paper off the desk. 

"I suppose you all can go a few minutes early, then." He says quietly, but once again, when Ryan gets up, Mr. Burns motions for him to stay back. After everyone else has left, whispering, Mr. Burns sits at his desk and scrubs his hands over his face. 

"Well, you're probably wondering what that was all about."

"Sir, I don't want to pry, but yes, I am." Ryan says truthfully.

"Michael… " Mr. Burns sighs. "You're probably also wondering why I'm pushing that you get to know him more."

"Sir?"

"Ryan, I used to be very good friends with Michael's mother. We were teaching at the same school before she separated from his father." 

Well, who'd a thunk it. "Really? So you knew his family?"

"Yes. And I suppose he's already told you about his…situation."

"He has."

"His mother, Debbie, always said that Michael looked up to me. I was so proud of him when he finished middle school with the highest marks in the class. But then his mother spontaneously up and left, and things went downhill from there. Michael, although his grades never wavered and he graduated highest in his class again, started slipping into the Detroit drug scene and doing things he… shouldn't have been doing. You know that."

"Yes."

"And one day, I came back to his father's house, just to try and check on him… " Mr. Burns shakes his head. "Ryan, I didn't even recognize him. He looked like he was going to snap in half if I touched him. And he was so… everything he said was so angry, it frightened me." He looks up at Ryan. "Michael handed me a sealed note and asked me to give it to his mother. I was one of the only people who knew where she was."

"And… did you give it to her?"

Mr. Burns smiles sadly. "I did not. I thought I was doing it for his own good. But eventually, Michael found out that the note hadn't been delivered at all, and he… he's hated me ever since. So that explains what happened today. I was surprised he held it in the first class, but it was bound to come out sometime."

"I'm sorry, sir." Ryan says a little numbly. He feels strangely out of touch with everything. 

"And, Ryan, please." Mr. Burns sighs. "Please try to keep him out of trouble. I don't want to saddle you with him too much, but after your… er, slight screw-up, this is something you could do to regain the university's trust. He just… " He makes a frustrated noise. "He's just so damn smart, but then it's like it all disappears at times."

"Sir… " Ryan takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry to contradict you, but I think you're wrong about that."

Mr. Burns looks up at him, surprised. "Why do you say that?"

Ryan holds his gaze. 

"I think Michael's always smart, he's just lost."

Even though he barely knows Michael, Ryan's ninety-nine percent sure this is true.

Mr. Burns is silent for a while, then he reaches over and pats Ryan's shoulder. "That's a very interesting take, Ryan. And I think you might just have me on that one." He smiles. "Now, get going. You two have fifty hours, I would start as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir." Ryan stands, grabbing his books. "I'll see you next class, then."

"Have a good day, Ryan."

 

 

It's not like he really has a choice, and he definitely doesn't want to, but Ryan finds his way to Michael's house and before he knows it, he's ringing the doorbell.

I don't want to be doing this, but I am, Ryan tells himself as he waits in the dimming evening light. It takes about five minutes for him to actually hear something going on inside the house, then a ratty-looking, gangly dude comes to the door and opens it. He has dreads (and he's white, so it just makes it worse) and one of the worst cases of acne Ryan's ever seen.

"Bro, what are you doing?" The guy says, looking three feet above Ryan's head. "It's so early."

"Uh." Ryan says, but then there's a clattering from back in the house and Michael appears in the doorway next to the guy. 

"Ben, move your ass." Michael sighs, moving him to the side. "What do you want?" He says hospitably, eyeing Ryan.

"He's here! He's the milkman! See, I told you, Michael! There's a milkman!" Ben tells Michael, then he turns back to Ryan. "Are you a milkman?"

"Uh, nope." Ryan doesn't quite know what to make of this creature yet, except that he can practically see the dope dripping out of his pores. Michael rolls his eyes and steps in front of Ben.

"Leave him alone, he's not the fucking milkman. Ryan, get in here before this bastard passes out again."

Ryan steps gingerly into the house and hears a loud, female voice blaring from the kitchen, all the way at the back, mixed in with some random song that sounds like screaming fish, if fish could scream. "What the fuck is playing in here?" 

Michael just looks at him witheringly. "Neutral Milk Hotel, of course."

A tiny, rather plump blonde girl with a black v-neck, at least ten visible piercings, and hot pants with tights underneath emerges from the back. "Who the fuck is this? Ben, baby, who the fuck is this?" She says with a thick Jersey accent, glaring up at Ryan. Her eyes look exactly like Michael's, coated with liner, except they're green and not quite as angry.

"I'm Ryan Lochte. Michael and I are- " Ryan starts, but she cuts him off.

"Yeah, you're fucking, okay." She says, and Michael lets out a pissed noise.

"Shut the fuck up, Chrissie." He retorts, and she crosses her arms, jutting out her lower lip.

"Well, what the fuck am I supposed to say, huh? Your frat whores aren't my- "

"SHUT THE FUCK UP." 

"No, you shut the fuck up! This is my house!"

"You're not even fucking living here, bitch."

"Waste of semen."

"Dirty twat."

"Slut."

"Cocksucker."

"Fairy."

"Ahem." Ryan clears his throat, and Michael glances back at him. 

"Oh, yeah, you're still here." He pats the top of Chrissie's head. "Great talking to you, bitchy bitch."

"Yeah, you too, asshole. Catch you in hell." She grins up at him, then sees Ben, who's been slumped in the corner the entire time, and rushes over to him. "Baby!"

"Follow me, Ryan."

They pass through the living room, which is papered with concert and movie posters, mixed in with some art posters too. Ryan can make out what looks like a medley of Banksy, Takashi Murakami, a print of Green Day's Dookie, Pulp Fiction, The Sex Pistols, and whatever else has been thrown on the wall. Two guys are snoring on the couch against the wall, the stains on which are very suspicious. As Ryan passes through the room, the smell changes: weed, something like stale bread, weed, perfume, and weed.

"Great place." Ryan offers when they reach the kitchen, and Michael just stares at him as he opens the fridge. "Sorry."

Michael pulls out what could be a sandwich and takes a huge chomp, then holds it out to Ryan. It's the first time Ryan's really seen him eat. "You want?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Michael takes another ravenous-goat-bite, then stuffs the sandwich back in the fridge. "So why are you here?"

"Well, I was thinking we should probably head over to all those organizations. And, like, tell them that we're going to be doing stuff, because we need to start, like, two days ago."

"You think they'll still be open at this hour?" Michael checks the clock, then shrugs. "Yeah, whatever. I need to get out."

They traverse back through the house, which has two floors but Ryan would rather not explore more than necessary, and Michael grabs a puffy coat before they head outside. 

"We're taking the bus again." Michael informs him, rubbing his arms up and down to try to combat the cold. "Fuck, okay, I'm an ice-coated ice cube with an icy filling."

Ryan laughs, jumping up and down to warm himself up. "Yeah, I'm going to freeze to death before we get these hours done." Michael glares. "Not literally."

Michael stops at the corner. "No car?" Ryan asks as they wait, shivering. 

"Fuck no. They're like, forty thousand million dollars." Michael makes a face. "I can bike, though, so la dee fucking da."

The bus arrives and Michael basically sprints on, sighing when the warmth hits him. "Yessss."

"Seriously, though, your house is pretty cool." Ryan tells him as they sit in the handicapped spots, because Michael's an insurgent (as he puts it.) And it is, in its own way. If Ryan was more depressed and less mentally stable, it would probably be the kind of place he'd hole up in.

"You know, I was thinking about that. And it actually kind of is." Michael says, pulling at a string on his jeans. "Like, there's so many other horrible places I could be, and I guess this is the least horrible of the horrible."

"You could say that. It's got way more space than the dorms, even if you have to share."

"Yeah, and I get free drugs. So that helps." Michael grins. "Sometimes Ben forgets that I'm also supposed to pay rent, so he just lets it go. It's fucking sweet."

"Is he even in college?"

"No, he like, dropped out of school when he was fifteen to go do nothing with his life except fuck and toke."

"Ah."

Ryan notices, almost unconsciously, that Michael is oddly easy to talk to. Even if he's sort of snippy and offhand and unapproachable-looking in general. 

Maybe he isn't all that bad. Or maybe he wasn't even all that bad in the first place, and Ryan really was being an asshole. It's hard to admit, but it might just be the unquestionable truth.

 

 

 

By Friday, all the organizations have ok'd the service hours, and Michael says that that weekend he'll be able to get out of work for a day. Ryan finds himself oddly looking forward to it, but he brushes that thought away dismissively. This is not the time.

Michael makes it through Youth Wellness without another explosion, and Mr. Burns seems to be making sure he's extra-cautious. Ryan's invited to a random party after class at Kappa Sigma's rival house, Alpha Omega Phi, but he thinks of Michael's face connected with his rage as a whole and he turns it down. Everyone already knows about the stupid community service, so there's really no point in explanations. 

On Saturday, Ryan actually wakes up early, and as he downs an energy bar, his cell rings.

"Well, look at that, the asshole wakes up before ten." Michael says by way of greeting, voice cracking and breaking over the line.

"Your reception's terrible." Ryan mutters, pulling his shirt over his head and hunting through his drawer for something to throw on.

"I don't have a cell, I'm at a fucking pay phone so give me a break. Meet me on the green in ten or your ass is  
abandoned."

"What?! I just got up, you can't just- "

"In ten, scumbucket." Michael says cheerfully, then hangs up on him.

Ryan grumbles and gripes and ignores his roommate Bill, who hasn't talked to him all that much and probably doesn't plan to. Ryan doesn't really care about him. Somehow, in five minutes, he manages to pull himself together and he clatters down the stairs, wincing as the outdoor light hits his face.

He spots Michael leaning up against a bare tree (winter is pretty much announcing itself in full now) and reading what looks like Haruki Murakami's _1Q84_. Michael looks up and sees him, shutting his book and stuffing it in his backpack. 

"You're reading that. You're actually reading that." Ryan says as Michael walks toward him, pulling his jacket around him. For some reason, Michael always looks cold. 

"Problem?" Michael snaps. "I want coffee, so we're stopping at The Bean on the way to Ypsi."

"Yeah, I'm feeling that, too."

They take the bus to Ypsilanti and stop halfway. Michael tells Ryan to wait outside as he leads him to a little café, disappearing inside. He emerges ten minutes later with two giant cups, steam curling from the holes in the lids. 

"I would say it's my treat, but I know the dude, so free fucking coffee for you." Michael mutters, gulping his down. He seems oblivious to the scalding heat. Ryan takes a sip and feels his body come back from the dead. "And also, you kind of dropped fifty on the failed ramen dinner date, so I have to pay you back."

"Oh, no, it's- " Ryan begins, but Michael's digging around in his pocket. He pulls out a twenty dollar bill and holds it out to Ryan. 

"Here."

"It's fine, seriously. Fif- "

"Just take the fucking twenty dollars, I'm not some plebeian street rat." Michael says, rolling his eyes. He grabs Ryan's hand, pries his fingers open, and closes them around the money. Michael's hands are warm despite the temperature outside, and it calms Ryan a little. 

Michael puts his cup on top of a mailbox and re-knots his scarf which is, of course, black and gray-striped. "Come on, there's a bus up there."

The rest of the bus ride is pretty short to Ypsilanti, and they get off on the east side, which Michael says is the bad side. "Not that bad, not as bad as Gratiot, but it's bad."

Apparently it is bad, because they pass by two head shops, seven dingy little bars with tiny, unlit, red lights out in front, and too many hobos to count. But Ryan does admit, grudgingly, that the place has character.

"There we go, the gunman in the fucking alley." Michael says, pushing Ryan past a sketchy-looking side street. "Move along." There's a shot and a screech, and Ryan just closes his eyes and lets Michael drag him away. 

Finally, they reach the Ypsilanti Children's Center and Michael goes right in. He walks up to the desk, and the black guy with an impressive 'fro sitting behind it looks up. 

Then, Michael lets out a sudden screech, and the guy screeches too, standing up.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD! SHANE!" Michael screams, and the moment Shane comes out from behind the desk, he unfurls himself to be around seven feet tall, holding his huge arms out. Michael screams again and jumps him, wrapping his legs around Shane's huge torso and hugging him with his bone-crushing grip. Shane doesn't even sway, just bellows and hugs Michael back. Michael clings to him like a baby koala, still shrieking. "AAAAH! YOU! OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

"MICHAEL FUCKING PHELPS! HOW ARE YOU, SWEETIE?!" Shane roars, spinning Michael around. Ryan just stands there dumbly. Shane notices him standing dumbly and stops his twirling. "Who's this you brought with you?"

Michael removes his face from Shane's fro and glances over at Ryan, smiling. "Oh. Him. We're stuck together for the rest of the year doing this fucking community service." He lets go of Shane and drops to the ground, tugging Ryan forward by his sleeve. "This is Shane Carter, the most badass poofster in town. Most badass poofster in town, this is Ryan Lochte, a random dude who Burns partnered me with."

Shane makes a face. "Burns? That fool? Sweetie, I thought you woulda killed him by now."

"I know. He's teaching the fucking Youth Wellness course, no joke." Michael sighs. "I had no idea you were working here, we had to talk to some idiot when we were getting our hours set."

"Sweetie, you wouldn't believe it, I'm here and I landed that night show at Lenny's. This boy treating you right?" Shane asks, sizing Ryan up with a raised eyebrow. "Cause if he ain't- "

"Don't worry, darling. He's the good kind of asshole."

"Oh, wonderful, sweetie."

"Uh." Ryan says meekly. "Sorry to interrupt, but what's a poofster?"

"It's a euphemism for my gay ass." Shane says happily, noogie-ing Michael's hair. His hand is about the size of Michael's entire head. 

"Technically, it's British slang. But we adopted it." Michael tells Ryan, then turns back to Shane. "Now, we have business by the name of entertaining the guttersnipes in residence and wiping their shitty little butts. Show us the way."

"Sure, sweetie." Shane grabs a pen from the cup on the desk. "Follow me."

Ryan numbly lets Michael tug him along as Shane floats down a hallway, impressively graceful for his general hugeness. His outfit is pure queen, with a velvet purple blazer, a silky silver scarf, and pastel yellow size-trillion jeans with suede Oxfords. "The babies are all here. They already know which one of you is which." He tells them when they reach a door at the end. "Keep in mind that there's a LOT in there."

"Okay. I miss you." Michael says, puckering up. Shane leans down and pecks his forehead. 

"I miss you too, sweetie. Call me."

"I so will, though."

After Shane glides away, Ryan just stares at Michael. "What was that."

"Shane took care of me when I was all down and out and fucked up. He's like, my gay spirit father." Michael says, rustling around in his backpack for something. "This is us. He's known me for literally my entire life." He holds up a photo of him that must have been taken when he was around eight years old, because Shane is standing next to him and he looks about three times Michael's height. They're both posing with their hand on their hip, looking really intense. Shane looks the same, but his afro is smaller.

"Sassy." Ryan comments, and Michael laughs. The noise sounds oddly comforting. To Ryan's ears, at least.

"That's what I am, mothafucka. Now, let's go kick some five-year-old ass, yeah?"

"I think the point is not to kick their ass, but to- "

"Yeah, well, whatever, you know what I mean. Let's go in there and kill it."

Michael turns the handle and opens the door, only to be blasted backward by the wave of pure sound. Twelve little faces turn toward them at the same time and gasp.

"Oh, shit." Ryan mutters, but it's too late, because all the little girls in the room squeal immediately and swamp him, grabbing onto his legs. Then, half of them see Michael, who's white as a ghost, and swamp him, too, shrieking with joy. 

"BOY!" One particularly tiny one who can't be more than a year old says, pointing at Ryan. Ryan nods encouragingly and picks his way through the swarm of little girls so he can put his stuff down in a corner. The boys are just sitting and watching, mouths slightly ajar.

"Ryan!" Michael yells, shaking his limbs free of the kids. "Help me the f-"

Ryan lunges forward and claps his hand over Michael's mouth, and Michael looks furious, but he continues in a much more decent manner. "Help me the freak out and hurry the freak up!" A girl tugs excitedly on his arm, and Michael's eyes widen. "Freak! She's going to freaking kill me!"

Ryan decides not to let Michael suffer from lack of expletives any longer and extracts him from the sea of children. Michael gasps and flails, trying to regain his balance.

"Are you here to play with us?" One cute little black girl asks, big brown eyes staring up. 

"No, this is just community service." Michael says dismissively, waving his hand. "I'd never be here if I had the choice."

Ryan glares at him.

"I mean, of course, yes, I love entertaining children. One of my favorite pastimes." The girl looks like she's going to cry, though, so Ryan bends down and takes her hand, smiling.

"What do you want to play?"

She claps her hands, instantly cheering up. "Dress up!"

"Great choice! Just give me a minute."

Ryan gets all the kids to sit in a circle and stay there, then he grabs Michael and drags him behind the indoor playset. "Okay, what the fuck."

"What?" Michael hisses, but he's blushing and won't look at Ryan.

"Do you even know what the fuck you're doing?"

"Ooooh, they're MAKING OUT back there! They have cooties." A boy shouts, and they all start tittering. Michael turns beet-red and pokes his head up above the playset.

"YOU SHUT THE FU- " He starts to yell, but Ryan yanks him back down before he can finish. 

"Seriously, do you know what the fuck you're doing?" He repeats, staring Michael down. Michael still won't look at him, though, and he blushes even harder. It's a while before he answers.

"Look, Ryan, okay. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but it's not my fucking fault, okay, like, I've never fucking done this before, and oh god." Michael puts his head between his knees, groaning. "Oh god. I can't do this. They're going to fucking hate me, oh god, let's just go pick up trash or something. Please."

Ryan realizes that Michael probably didn't have much of a childhood, let alone get to try and take care of other kids. Most of Ryan's was spent being king to his younger brothers' peasants, and he wonders if Michael even knows how to play with littler kids. 

"Hey. No. You're gonna be fine, they'll love you." He says encouragingly. It's a bit of a risk, but Ryan puts a hand on Michael's shoulder. "Okay? Just relax and copy me."

Michael shakes his head. "Vetoed. I'm feeling trash pickup."

Ryan rolls his eyes and stands up, offering Michael his hand. "Come on. We're in this together, we're going to get out together. Got it?"

Michael looks at him for the longest time, just looks at him.

Then he takes Ryan's hand and gets up. "Okay, fuck. I got this."

Ryan grins. "There we go."

They emerge from behind the pink and blue castle and Ryan claps his hands to get everyone's attention. There's a monitor in the corner, but she's asleep, a book on her lap. Great. "Okay, kids. Michael's going to handle the girls, and I'm going to handle the boys."

"What, when did I agree to this?" Michael hisses, tugging on Ryan's sleeve, but Ryan just plasters a smile on his face. The girls all squeal and run over to Michael, who goes down in a flurry of muffled curses, and Ryan sits on the floor next to a cute little guy who looks around three. 

"Hey, buddy. What're you reading?"

The boy regards the picture book in his lap mournfully. "I can't read. I like the pictures."

"Oh, dude, that's fine." Ryan smiles. "You want me to read to you?"

"Read to me, too." Another boy says from next to him, sidling closer. "And me." Another one adds. Pretty soon, they're all clustered in a tight circle around him, and Ryan can't help but grin.

"Okay. This story is called… " He checks the cover. " _Curious George Goes to the Hospital_. This was one of my favorites when I was a kid."

"Read! Read!" The little boy next to him climbs onto his lap and paws at the pages, and Ryan laughs, opening the book.

"'This is George. He lived with his friend the man in the yellow hat. He was a good little monkey, but he was always curious… '"

Ryan gets through the first half of the book and decides to take a break and check up on Camp Michael. He sets the boys up with snacks and decides to spy first, so he hides behind the littlest one (who introduces himself as Christopher) and watches.

Michael is splayed out on the ground, with the girls climbing all over him. He doesn't even notice Ryan, just struggles until he's sitting up. "I said, not the face!"

"But whyyy?" One little redhead whines. "I wanna know why you wear the black stuff."

Ryan almost laughs at Michael's confused expression. "You mean my eyeliner?"

"That's what my mommy wears, but you're not a girl! Silly!" The redhead giggles, and Michael bites his lip.

"Uh, FYI, guys can wear this too, as is exemplified by myself. And I wear it because I have a depressing past and this helps me convey to people that I don't want to be bothered."

"What's depressing? What's convey? What's exemplified? What's FYI?" A tiny black girl asks as she crawls into his lap. 

"Well… " Michael seems to think long and hard about his answer. "Depressed is when you're so sad you think nothing really matters anymore, and no one cares about you."

"So you're depressed?" The redhead asks, making a sad face and putting her hand on his cheek.

"Yup, sweetheart. And there's nothing you can do about it." Michael raises an eyebrow. "Case closed."

"Hold on. I bet you're just faking it!" She laughs. "Leah! Jackie! Let's cheer him up."

Ryan watches, wanting to see exactly how they're going to "cheer him up," and one of the girls emerges with a pink box. She pulls out bright pink lipstick, blue and purple eyeshadow, red blush, and every color of nail polish imaginable. "We're going to make you pretty, then you won't feel depressed!" The redhead tells Michael, who's staring at the makeup like he's about to throw up. "I'm Maddie. I'll be your chief artist today."

"Whoa, wait one fu… freaking minute, kids- " Michael splutters, but the girls all descend on him in a swarm of giggles and attack his face. Ryan snorts, and a minute later, Michael surfaces, gasping. His eyelids are a violent shade of aquamarine, his lips look like two cherries, the lipstick smeared all around them, and his cheeks are firetruck-red. 

Ryan dissolves into laughter than and Michael's head snaps up. When he sees him, Michael lets out a bellow of rage and wades his way through the sea of girls, tackling Ryan. 

"YOU JERK! YOU JERK! YOU'VE BEEN WATCHING ME DIE!" Michael yells, pinning Ryan down. Ryan's laughing too hard, because Michael's face up close is even more hilarious. Michael turns back to the girls. "Hey, girls, I have a new test subject. Meet Ryan. He's game for anything."

The girls screech and soon, Ryan's engulfed as well. Michael heads over to the boys' side of the room after wiping his face off, and the last thing Ryan sees is him sitting down next to Christopher before his own face is covered in makeup brushes and puffs of powder. When they're done, Maddie pulls out a mirror and shows Ryan how pretty he is. Ryan bursts out laughing and gives her a high-five. "I'm so beautiful!"

They start packing up the makeup and Ryan glances over at the boys' side as he scrubs his face, the nearly chokes on his own spit. Michael has crushed up what looks like Ritz crackers into powder and rolled up a dollar bill, and he's arranging the cracker powder in a line while the boys watch intently. "So then you just… " Michael puts the bill to his nose and snorts some of the cracker powder. "See? Easy." All the boys' mouths drop open and they start applauding him. Michael shrugs, grinning.

"Ooh, lemme try!" Christopher says, reaching for the dollar, and Ryan launches himself across the room and snatches the dollar bill up before Christopher even touches it. "THAT is completely age-inappropriate." He says, shoving Michael back. Michael makes an angry noise.

"Hold up, you're interrupting my lesson. Christopher, he's wrong. Wrong." 

"Can't you just read to them like a normal person?" Ryan pleads, grabbing _Curious George_ and flipping to where he left off. "Here. Just. Just. Just read."

Michael rolls his eyes, but he takes the book and motions for the boys to move closer. "C'mon, kids. Storytime."

Not quite sure that this is going to work, Ryan leaves it as it is and returns to the group of girls, who are setting up a tiny sewing kit in the corner. "Ryan! Come make dresses with us!" Maddie calls, and Ryan goes over to help them get all the glittery fabrics in place. 

He's not really trying to, but he catches snippets of Michael plowing through the story in a monotone. "'George. Was glad. When he was in bed at last. His tummy. Was hurting.'" Michael says glumly, then louder and in Ryan's direction, "My, what a MENTALLY INVIGORATING PLOT WE HAVE HERE." 

Christopher yawns and starts picking his nose, and Ryan looks over to see Michael muttering "fuck this" under his breath and slamming the book shut. The boys all look up. "But suddenly, the horrible stomach cramp receded, and George shot out of bed, up and kicking." The little guys lean in closer, and Michael grins, getting their attention. 

"George started to feel something strange on his back, and before long, he had two ten-foot, feathery wings growing out of him. He laughed and flew around his hospital room, and all the doctors and nurses gasped and said 'Catch that monkey!' But George was too fast for them." All the boys are captivated now, and Michael glances around, sees a convenient pair of fairy wings sitting in a bin, and grabs Christopher. He pulls the wings onto him and lifts Christopher, who's giggling and pretending to fly, up onto his shoulders. Michael looks like he can't even handle the forty pounds, but he holds him up, grimacing. 

"George flew out of the hospital and up into the clouds… " Michael spins around with Christopher on his shoulders. "Where he met even more monkeys just like him, with white, feathery wings. They told George that this was heaven. And he believed them." Michael looks less cheerful now. "But then, the wings suddenly came off, and George fell back down the earth." Christopher gasps and hugs Michael's head. Michael sits back down. "Luckily, the man with the yellow hat caught him just before he crashed into the ground. George realized that the best place for him was on earth, where he belonged." He sets Christopher down on a pillow. "The end."

The boys all clap and one little guy who Ryan thinks is named Donnie tugs Michael's pant leg. "More! Another one!"

Ryan turns back to his pink sequined dress, but he can't help but listen along. "Hmm…ah." Michael holds up a finger. "Okay, I got one. But you have to listen closely."

"Once, there was a little boy named… " Michael pauses. "Jimmy. Jimmy lived in a wonderful world called Dreamland. Dreamland had a life of its own, and it gave him and his family everything he ever wanted. Everything and anything. But one day, Jimmy's mother decided to move far, far away, and she took his sisters with him."

Ryan's eyes widen and he doesn't dare turn around, but all the girls do. "I'm gonna go listen to the story." Leah tells him, running over to sit next to Michael. Ryan slowly swivels and sits at the back, where none of the kids can see him, and pretends to check his phone. But he's listening. 

"Unfortunately for Jimmy, his father thought it was all his fault, and punished him severely. He gave Jimmy up to Dreamland, telling it to take him and do whatever it wanted." Michael leans in, glancing briefly up at Ryan. "Now, Dreamland had a dark side. When given a real live human like Jimmy, it couldn't say no. But it made a bargain with Jimmy when his father abandoned him at the gates. Dreamland said that as long as Jimmy didn't eat the sacred fruit that grew on the branches of its trees, it would leave him alone."

Ryan swallows, and in the dead silence, it's unnecessarily loud. "Jimmy held out for a long time, but one day, the temptation overtook him and he picked a fruit. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, sweet and juicy. Jimmy took another, then another, and before long, the sacred fruit was all gone. But Dreamland came back and saw him, and it became very angry. 'How could you!' It screamed. Jimmy felt immediately horrible and tried to apologize, but Dreamland wasn't listening. It locked Jimmy in a tower and imprisoned him for many years." Michael pauses. "Do you want to know where Jimmy is now?"

"Where? Where is he?" The kids chorus. Michael laughs softly. 

"Jimmy's still in the tower. He's waiting for someone to save him." All the kids make sad noises, and Michael shakes his head, smiling. "But don't think like that. Jimmy did things he wasn't supposed to, and he regrets them. But someday, the right person's going to come along and rescue him from that tower. Then he'll finally be free."

Ryan wants to believe Michael's gaze rests on him, for some stupid and completely inconceivable reason, but it doesn't. Michael doesn't even look up. 

 

 

 

"Fucking hell, I can't believe we spent five hours in that place." Michael says, stretching out his arms as the door to the Ypsilanti Children's Center swings shut behind them. 

"Yeah, nor can I." Ryan groans, cricking his neck. So many kids have been swinging around on it that he can't really tell it's there anymore. "Marshall killed my back."

"Are you kidding? You saddled me with fucking Jacob, I swear, that kid must demolish turduckens for breakfast." Michael mutters, twisting at his waist, then popping his elbows. "God, I'm never having a child."

"Ditto here."

Ryan's gaze drifts to the not-so-small strip of skin that's exposed as Michael stretches his arms again, and he blushes at first, even though Michael doesn't notice, but something does catch Ryan's eye. There's what looks like the tail of a cut in Michael's skin tracing up on his hipbone and ending just above it. 

Ryan's been wondering if Michael's a cutter, but that could just be a weirdly placed injury. Not, like, self-harm, but maybe he, well, fell on a rake.

They take the bus back to Ann Arbor, but Michael motions for him to get up before they get to University of Michigan. "Come on, I gotta check up on Angel Vacuum. Andy's probably dead by now without me."

"Oh. Sure."

"I mean, you don't have to go if you don't want to, but I am."

"No, I'll check it out. It sounds pretty cool."

They step off the bus and Michael immediately swears, wrapping his coat tighter around him. "Shit, it's like Michigan's out to kill me."

"Borrow my gloves?" Ryan offers, but Michael waves him away.

"Nah, it's good." Michael turns right onto a little hipsterish street and stops in front of a storefront that's entirely covered in vinyl sleeves. The building itself is painted bubblegum pink, with a mural of a smiling sun shining down on a huge green vacuum that's sucking up a ton of angels. SOLAR POWERED ANGEL VACUUM RECORDS is emblazoned in wiggly letters on the sign out front.

"Well then." Ryan comments, and Michael just rolls his eyes, taking his arm and dragging him inside. "Get in there, if you think this is fucked up, wait until you see Andy."

"ANDY!" Michael hollers as soon as he gets in, and Ryan winces, covering his ears. "I'M HOOOOME!" When that elicits no response, Michael yells, "PIZZA FOR ANDY HOLMES! EXTRA LARGE WITH BACON AND MUSHROOMS!"

A dude comes scrambling out from a room in the back. "Whaz? Whaz? Oh god, it's just you. Oh god, I was asleep." He staggers closer, hanging onto a shelf of vinyl. Michael reaches forward and steadies him. "Michael, why are there so many of you?"

"I don't fucking know, Andy, ask someone else. Anyway, you need anything shelved, because I kind of ditched your ass this weekend." 

"You're so mean to me, Michael." Andy whines, falling onto his knees and staying there for about a minute, swaying, before he talks again. "You know I needed help getting this giant shipment of the stupid fucking Stones in, and you just left me here."

"I know, I'm devil spawn." Michael takes Andy's face in his hands and squeezes his cheeks, giggling as they bunch up like a chipmunk's. Andy whines again. "Go the fuck to sleep, I'll take care of it."

Andy mumbles something under his breath and slouches back to the room, where he flops down with a thud. Snoring rattles through the walls within five seconds. Michael turns back to Ryan and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and that's my thirty-six year old boss."

"Of blinding magnificence." Ryan says, grinning. Michael slaps at his arm.

"But he's cool. He's like, the only person in town who would give me a job. Anyway, help me take these boxes out of the back room, they're heavy assholes."

Ryan follows Michael to the back, taking in the shelves and shelves of records, and when he looks down another aisle, there's shelves and shelves of CDs and a few videos. In the next one, there's t-shirts and band memorabilia. "Michael, this place is fucking awesome." He breathes as he runs his hand over an old Gimme Shelter single, probably an original from the 60s. 

"I know, right? And sometimes he lets me just like, pick out a record and take it home, and I just fucking die, you know?" Michael goes behind the counter at the back and fishes around in a drawer. He pulls out a set of keys and opens the other back room, where Andy isn't passed out. "Like, fuck being a doctor. Fuck being a lawyer. I'm just going to work at this shitty little bankrupt music store for the rest of my life."

"I could probably do that if I worked here. Seriously, this is like a dream job for some people."

Michael steps into the storage room and flicks the lights on, groaning when he sees the three boxes stacked up on the side. "Well, and I mean, we're not really bankrupt. Andy has a following and shit." 

Michael sheds his jacket and goes to hang it on an rack hanging high up on the wall, and Ryan can't help but watch the outline of his body under his clothes, the shadow of his waist under his shirt. It seems oddly graceful, and Ryan blushes as Michael's small hips swing, balancing on his tiptoes to reach the top hook. 

Even though Michael's just wearing a sheer black long-sleeve and jeans and his Doc Martens, an outfit that could be considered nunnery-level by some of the girls he's seen at the frat parties, there's something so damn sexy about how he can be wearing so many clothes, but it's so much hotter than some chick with giant tits in a thong and a bikini. Ryan swallows and tries not to think about it, because he shouldn't be thinking about it, goddammit. They're just goddamn partners on a goddamn project, goddammit. 

But he's still blushing when Michael walks back over to him. Michael quickly catches it and glares at him. "I told you to stop checking me out, you dirty old man."

"I'm seriously not."

"Whatever. Take one of these boxes."

Michael bends over to pick up two of them and Ryan fights his heartbeat for all he's worth, but it's not enough, so he just look away until Michael's straightened up and his butt isn't on display. Michael sways and almost falls, but he regains his balance and Ryan lifts the other box easily. 

Staggering over to the door, Michael tries to kick it open with one foot, but he overbalances and almost falls again. Ryan rolls his eyes and motions with his box. "Lemme take one of them."

"No, they're like forty bajillion fucking pounds."

"You're just a weakling, give it to me."

Michael's gaze battles his for a little, but then he gives in and plops one of the boxes into Ryan's arms. "There. Christ, Arnold Schwarzenegger."

Ryan follows Michael to the front of the store, where there's an empty display shelf filled with empty record boxes, and Michael sets the stuff down in front of it. "Okay, now I shelve these, and you either watch or help."

"I'll go with help." Because it's better than watching and having another seizure.

"Good. Alphabetically left to right by artist, then by album. If it's not categorizable, just give it to me."

"Not categorizable?"

"Believe me, there's this electro-dance band that's just three exclamation points in a row. It's fucking ridiculous."

Ryan shakes his head and starts working on his box. Luckily, they're in chunks by artist, so he pulls out about five vinyls of Back In Black and Highway To Hell first and puts them at the front. Michael shoves some Beck next to it, followed by The Black Keys.

"God, I used to listen to these so much." Ryan says, more to himself, as he sifts through completely new White Stripes LPs at the very back of the box. 

"Why the fuck did you stop? That's a great band." Michael says, already done with the first box. He coughs and hits his chest. "Shit, dust." 

"I dunno. The cool kids started listening to rap, so I was like, well, it has to be better than the stuff I listen to. And I guess I just converted to Lil Wayne." Ryan shrugs. "I kinda miss them. I think I had a frickin' crush on Jack when I was trying to play guitar."

"Oh god, are you serious?" Michael shakes his head, seeming to think over something. Then, he holds up his palm. "Wait here."

"What? Why?" Ryan calls, but Michael's already disappeared behind an aisle. He comes back lugging a little turntable on a cart behind him and a copy of Elephant under his arm. "Oh my god! That ALBUM!"

"Yeah, this album." Michael mutters, plugging the turntable in and wheeling it closer. Ryan sees what he's about to do.

"Oh man, dude, I haven't heard this in so long, you're kidding me." Ryan laughs, but Michael just wags a finger toward him and pulls Elephant out of its case. 

"You're listening to this with me whether you want to or not, because I happen to fucking be in love with this record." Michael says, dropping the needle. It lands and the bass line of Seven Nation Army blares out. Ryan's about to scream like a fangirl, because it's been so damn long. But Michael shakes his head and picks up the needle again. "No. Overplayed, and we need something to dance to."

"Que?" Ryan says, but Michael drops the needle again, and Girl, You Have No Faith In Medicine starts playing. Michael actually screams. "AHH! THIS SONG!"

"AHH! THIS SONG!" Ryan screams back, and he puts down the bunch of records he's holding. When he looks up, he almost suffocates right then, because Michael is shaking his body to the beat in what could be the worst dance move ever but he somehow makes look _erotic_. 

"OH GIRL! YOU HAVE NO FAITH IN MEDICINE!" Michael sings, off-key but kind of adorable, spinning around so he just looks like a lanky black octopus. Ryan laughs, cracking up even harder when Michael bumps into a shelf, but he's not really going to start dancing.

Apparently, though, Michael thinks differently, because he pirouettes (sort of) over to Ryan. "Come on, don't be a fucking party pooper, assbutt!"

"Hell to the no!" Ryan yells back over the music, but Michael just rolls his eyes and grabs his hands, laughing as Ryan stumbles forward. Michael swings them around, still singing along at the top of his lungs, and Ryan just lets himself enjoy whatever he needs to enjoy, attempting some sort of disco groove and failing miserably. But he doesn't really mind, because Michael is failing just as miserably, and he's laughing just as hard, and his smile really does look good on his face. Better than good.

Michael does the John-Travolta-circa-Saturday-Night-Fever move and starts singing along again. "WELL STRIP THE BARK RIGHT OFF THE TREE AND JUST- " He points at Ryan, twirling around with his arms above his head.

"HAND IT THIS WAY!" Ryan finishes, shaking his curly hair back and forth like he's Robert Plant or something. "DON'T EVEN NEED A DRINK OF WATER TO MAKE THE HEADACHE GO AWAY!"

They sing along way too loudly to the rest of it, and when the song comes to its abrupt end, Michael spins off into the corner after stopping the record, still laughing his head off and holding his stomach. "Oh god, your fucking hair, Ryan."

Ryan gropes at his scalp and snorts as he finds that his curls have turned into the frizzy fluff that happens when he moves more than usual. "Shit. Who cares though, I already look like an idiot dancing around in this stoner record store with you."

Michael laughs again, and he just looks so damn happy, and it looks so damn amazing, that Ryan wishes he would just stay like that. Just for a while.

But of course, that's unrealistic, because Michael sobers up and opens up the last box, pulling out some Pink Floyd. "Ah, get your lazy ass back to work."

"I'm not even getting paid."

"Do I look like I care?" 

Michael pushes back his sleeve to clear out some dust with a rag, swearing under his breath, and that's when Ryan sees the cuts.

They slice across and all up and down his forearm, all of them dark red and brown scars. Ryan's never really seen anything like it up close before, and he can't help but draw in a sharp breath.

Michael glances over at him, follows his eyes, and snaps his arm back, shoving his sleeve down. "Fuck."

"Michael." Ryan just looks at him. "Oh my- "

"Please. Please don't." Michael holds up his hands. "They're old, okay? Just don't try to fucking fix it. Please, Ryan."

Ryan opens and closes his mouth for a while, trying to come up with something. "But- "

Michael makes a frustrated noise, pulling his sleeves further down with his thumbs. "Even if you think you can fix it, you fucking can't, okay? Not these. You can fix people, but you can't fucking fix their scars, because they're goddamn scars and they're going to be there forever. These are scars. The best thing you can do for me is ignore them. That's what I'm doing. Okay?" 

Ryan just runs his eyes up Michael's arms and meets his gaze. Michael's brown eyes look dark, and it might just be the liner, but Ryan can tell that this is a subject onto which Michael would prefer not to digress.

"Please." Michael repeats, still staring him down. "Please don't fucking tell Andy, he knows about everything else but not this, and he doesn't need anything else bothering him."

"Okay. Okay." Ryan puts up his hands. "I'm just going to pretend I never saw them. I'm just going to pretend."

"Correct answer." Michael mutters, pulling the last few of the records from the box. "You're still in good asshole territory, got it? But, you're like thisclose to plummeting over the chasm of bad asshole."

"Yup."

Michael puts The Wombats, Work Drugs, and The XX on the shelf, then he takes out the Yeah Yeah Yeah's latest album, Mosquito. 

"Whoa, hey, can I see that?" Ryan asks, wanting to break the silence. Michael shrugs and hands it over. "Have you listened to this?"

"Dude, of course. It's fucking art." Michael runs his index finger over the tortured baby on the front. "You?"

"I've only heard Sacrilege- "

"STOP. TALKING." Michael looks dumbfounded. "You've never heard Wedding Song?"

"I don't, uh, know what that is."

Michael bites his lip, making it redder than it already is. Ryan looks away. "Well, I don't blame you, because really no one on the frakking earth knows that song. But you need to listen to this now, or I'm going to kill you."

Michael disappears behind an aisle again, and comes back out with an opened copy of the record. "Put that on the shelf." He says, gesturing to the one Ryan's holding. 

Ryan puts Mosquito at the back and sits on a ledge where the record cases are displayed. Michael drops the needle and sits down next to him. "Just listen. I started fucking sobbing when I heard this."

The beginning's a little weird, with what sounds like screeching kids and off-key bells, but then a bass line starts going and Karen O is suddenly singing this fucking _beautiful_ song, that should be played at a wedding because it sounds like she's falling in love as she sings. 

 

_Some kind of violent bliss led me to love like this_

_One thousand deaths my dear, I'll die without you here_

_In flames I sleep soundly, with angels around me_

_I lay at your feet, you're the breath that I breathe._

 

"Holy fucking shit." Ryan mutters. Nick Zinner comes in with his guitar part, and Karen O's still singing that melody, which has to be the most gorgeous thing, like, ever, and the whole song is just oh my god. 

"I. Fucking. Know. Right." Michael says, leaning back on his elbows. "Like, this shit is fucking music. None of this talking into a microphone and calling it rap, it's this shit here. This shit here. It's beautiful."

The instrumentals trail off and the record goes silent, and Michael gets up and turns it off. "Christ." Ryan shakes his head. "I'm buying that when I get home." And he really means it. 

"Buy all of Mosquito, it's so worth it." Michael tells him, putting the turntable back and gathering up the now-empty boxes. Ryan looks at the clock and sees that it's already been an hour. "Okay, we need to get out of here." 

Michael disappears into the back room and comes back out with his coat on, boots clunking against the floor. "Let's go." He tosses Ryan his jacket, which he doesn't even remember taking off. 

Ryan's still a little numb from listening to that goddamn song, but he follows Michael out the door and they step out into the blast of cold. "AH! The wall of suck!" Michael says, jumping up and down and doing some weird shimmy to get his blood moving. 

They hop onto the bus and Michael's still shivering, running his hands over his arms. "I hate life, I hate life, I hate life." He mutters to himself over and over again. 

"Hey." Ryan says quietly. "You, like, had friends when you were in high school and stuff, right?"

Michael just looks at him as they sit down. "Are you fucking asking me that? Are you?"

Ryan shrugs. "I mean. Just so you, you know, didn't have to take it all by yourself. 'Cause your sisters weren't around."

Michael's silent for a few moments, then he looks up at Ryan, eyes unreadable. "Well, okay. I had one person you could count as a friend. Her name was Caroline. But I think she hung out with me just so she could get high. She died of an OD a couple months ago, I heard."

Ryan raises his eyebrows. "Ah. Wow."

"You're wondering if I ever screwed her." Michael says flatly, and Ryan blushes. 

"No, I already told you, I'm not, like, obsessed with you being all- "

"Yeah, and I already told you not to check me out. But no, we never did anything. The only girl I screwed was my dad's waitress friend, and she was like, five hundred pounds. She did some fucked-up stuff to me, I swear."

Ryan still doesn't quite get how Michael can just talk about this. "Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

Michael laughs. "No, it wasn't as bad as the American Lit guy. That shit was horrible, I, like, couldn't move for a week." He shakes his head. "Never be a slut, Ryan. You'll get some screwed-up assholes who wanna fuck you in the most disgusting ways."

Ryan winces. This is possibly the most obscene and loudest conversation he's ever had on a public transport system. "Like… "

"Oh god, the guy wanted to be a, like, total dom. I mean total."

Ryan's mouth falls open. "You mean, like… "

"Sit on his lap, call him Daddy stuff." Michael snorts. "It was kind of hilarious, and I was gonna crack up, but then he started fucking me and it was like oh shit that hurts."

"Sorry, sorry, you don't have to talk about it. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's fine. I mean, you don't have to ask. There's basically no way you can offend me when it comes to talking about this shit." Michael smirks. "Unless you pull an asshole and criticize me or try something, then I'll be fucking pissed and I'll probably stab you." His smiles fades. 

"I'm just…I'm really not like that anymore, though. I wish people would just shut the fuck up about it and move on."

They reach their stop and get off the bus. Ryan tries to find how he's going to respond to this as they start the walk back to Michael's house. "I mean… " He shrugs. "A lot of people would just get stuck like that. But I guess you were, like, strong enough not to."

"Ha, nice try, Dr. Phil. You see these noodle arms?" Michael pats his bicep, laughing. "And I'm so not mentally strong, oh god, you should see me at exams. I'm like, crying hysterically because I show up ten seconds late."

"But you're strong enough to keep your head up." Ryan says, not really trying to be deep or anything, but it's true. "If I… you know, had a past like yours, I probably would just kill myself or stay at home my entire life. But you just… you're strong, Michael. Believe me, you're in much better shape then I'd be."

Michael's quiet for a long time, looking up at the bare tree branches passing above them. "Well, just feel fucking lucky you're not me."

They walk in silence back to Michael's, and just as they're walking up the steps, Ryan stops. "Hey." Michael turns to look at him, crossing his arms.

"Look. You're… you're really different. Okay?" This is so difficult for him to get out, but it'll have to be said sometime. "Like, you are so weird. You are one of the weirdest people I have ever met, and sometimes, I don't even know what to say to you because the stuff you tell me is so fucking _not normal_ for some nineteen-year-old kid to come up with." Michael raises an eyebrow. "But you're… " Ryan searches for the right words. "You're pretty cool, too. And, like, all this fifty hours of community service stuff? It's gonna work, okay? We're gonna make it work. And if you, y'know, if you ever need a place to crash or if you want food, just… like, just call me."

Michael just regards him for a while, and he doesn't smile, or laugh, or even move, just stands and looks at him. 

Then he leans forward and hugs Ryan, and Ryan was so not expecting it but it's happening, and he lets his hands rest on Michael's back, just for a moment, before Michael pulls away.

"Thank you." Michael mutters, not looking at him, then he turns on his heel and dashes back into his house, slamming the door behind him.

Ryan stands there for a good two minutes before he can remember that he has a brain, and he slumps back down the steps, not even knowing what he's doing anymore.

 

 

 

"What do you want?" Michael grumbles, yawning as he opens the door. "It's fucking Sunday, we already did our stupid stuff for the weekend."

"Yeah, but the homeless center people just called and said that if we could make it today, it would be better." Ryan surveys Michael's pajamas, which are a black Japanese screen-printed t-shirt and black plaid flannel pants. The eyeliner is somehow still there. "So, we should go and do some stuff." 

Michael gripes and curses and calls him an fuckstick, but in ten minutes, he comes out of the house wearing his usual black everything, but with Chucks this time. They ride a different bus to East Detroit, and it's a little terrifying at first to see the dramatic change of scenery, the buildings turning desolate and gray. Some parts of the city look like they're just dead, with no one there to inhabit them anymore. "There's my dad's place, duck." Michael mutters, gesturing to a particularly shabby apartment building. Ryan can't blame Michael for wanting to get out of there as fast as possible, because it resembles a prison more than it does a home.

The bus pulls to a stop when Michael tugs the yellow cord, and they get off right in front of the homeless shelter. "So, we'll be cooking shit and cleaning shit, I guess." Michael says, crossing his arms and looking up at the place. "Fuck, it's huge."

"How many hobos are there supposed to be in this city?"

"I don't know, like, half the people here are on the streets." 

"Great." Ryan walks forward and pushes open the door. "Ladies first." Michael stomps on his toe as he breezes past, and Ryan hops in after him, cursing under his breath. 

The thing that hits him first is the smell, of body odor and musty old clothes and just everything nasty all mixed together. He can hear Michael gagging next to him. "Maybe the kitchen's on the next floor?" Michael gasps, striding past the group of hobos at the entrance and opening the door to the stairwell. "Assholes first."

Ryan rolls his eyes, going up the stairs. He's relieved to find that the smell's starting to disappear. "I guess that's the waiting room or whatever, 'cause I think you can take baths and stuff at these places." 

Michael peeps through the narrow window on the door and looks back at Ryan with a horrified expression. "Ryan, I swear there have to be seventy-something bums in there, holy shit."

Ryan looks through and reels at how many people there are, but he steels himself and turns to Michael. "Come on, dude, we kicked four-year-old-ass, we can kick bum ass. Just five hours."

Sighing, Michael turns the doorknob. "If we're gang-raped, this is all your fucking fault."

The buzz in the room goes silent when they walk in. Michael basically uses Ryan as a shield as they cross the room to the information desk, going to the visitors window. Their footsteps echo behind them. "Hi, um, I'm Ryan Lochte. This is Michael Phelps. We're here to do some community service hours." He says to the receptionist, who smiles at him. Ryan glances next to him and sees Michael's normal angry stare.

"We're so happy to have you two. I'm Linda. Why don't I show you to the kitchens, and Bruce will take it from there?"

Linda leads them to the kitchen at the back, the people in the room starting to talk again, and introduces them to Bruce. The guy is shaped like a refrigerator and just grunts at them, pointing to a giant load of dirty kitchen junk by the huge sink.

"You want us to clean that shit up?" Michael snaps, crossing his arms. Bruce nods, then starts shuffling around in some cabinet like they don't even exist.. "Fine. Come on, Ryan."

Michael decides that he'll go on washing duty if Ryan dries and puts them away, and when he rolls up his sleeves, Ryan pretends that the cuts aren't there. In about an hour, they're done and the dishes are all dry, so Bruce makes his way back over and shows them a bunch of food recipes. They're basically all sandwiches of the same kind, just phrased differently. 

Ryan goes to the giant fridge and pulls out all the stuff they'll need, and they get to work on the sandwiches. Michael makes a face as he spreads mayonnaise on the bread. "Oh, shit, I think this is rotten."

Giving it a whiff, Ryan gags and pushes it away. "God, throw it out, throw it out."

Michael grumbles and goes to find more mayonnaise. They have to make sixty-six of these things, but it goes relatively quickly, and in another hour, they're done. Michael finds a towel and and wipes his hands off, still looking disgusted. "Uh, Bruce, we're done." Ryan says, gesturing to the sandwiches. Bruce looks up and says the longest sentence so far.

"Go pass them out."

"Loquacious fucker." Michael mutters as he tosses half the sandwiches in a plastic bag, shoving the other half toward Ryan. He shuts the kitchen door behind him and starts giving out the sandwiches in the most unenthusiastic way possible. "Here. Eat this. Yeah, no problem. Here."

Ryan sighs and takes his load, actually smiling and handing the food out instead of tossing it and mumbling something, then moving on. There's so many down and out people that it's a little overwhelming at first, and it's only then that Ryan really grasps how desperately Detroit needs a boost. 

He's almost done handing the sandwiches out when he hears a loud voice from the other end of the room. "Hey, isn't that Fred's kid? Michael?" 

Ryan turns around and sees a fat, middle-aged guy lifting up a ratty baseball cap to squint at Michael, who's frozen. His buddies, who look exactly the same, all mutter to themselves. By the way Michael looks, this is not going to end well.

"Holy shit, it _is_ him!" The guy says, laughing obnoxiously. "Get the fuck over here and gimme a sandwich, Michael! I wanna talk to you!"

Ryan can only watch, feet stuck to the ground, as Michael approaches the bench where they're sitting and raises his arm mechanically, a sandwich held between his fingers. "Here." He starts to turn away, but the guy grabs his wrist. 

"No, no, stay here, I wanna talk to you. How you doing?" The guy smiles in a way that definitely isn't friendly, still holding onto Michael's wrist. Michael tries to yank his arm back, but the guy is either really strong or really determined.

"Let go of me, you dickhe- " Michael starts, but suddenly, the guy jerks him forward and grabs the front of his shirt.

"I wanna know how the fuck you're doing! Show some fucking respect, or I'll beat the shit out of you like your daddy did!" The guy shouts, and the noise is what snaps Ryan back into motion. 

"Excuse me." He tells the old man who was just thanking him, and heads as fast as he can toward Michael, who's still struggling. 

"Shut the FUCK UP!" Michael yells, and the entire room turns to look at the scene. Ryan forces his way through a tight-knit group of old women, cursing that the room is so crowded.

"Is that what you want? Or do you want something else?" The guy's grin is disgusting, and all his buddies laugh as he pulls Michael forward. Ryan's close enough to hear what he says. "You remember that night, Michael? You know that's what you want, you little fucking slut, you remember I bent you over that table and- "

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Michael screams, shoving the guy with all he's worth, and just as Ryan reaches him, there's a loud smack and Michael's suddenly on the floor, one hand cupping his cheek. 

"Shit." Ryan mutters under his breath, dropping to his knees and putting a hand on Michael's shoulder, which is trembling slightly. Michael just brushes him away and keeps his face toward the ground as the guy and his friends roar with laughter. "Michael, are you okay? Shit."

"I'm fine. I'm fine." Michael says quietly, standing. But, of course, that's the opposite of what he is. "Let's go, Ryan."

Ryan's surprised, because he thought Michael would have been the type to get up, feign being hurt, then whip around and punch the guy's lights out. 

But maybe he's not. Or maybe Ryan just doesn't really know who he is.

"Awww, look at the little fags." The guy jeers, and Michael just flips him off as he grabs Ryan and leads him away. "Come on, you don't want him following us." Michael mutters, flinging open the door and throwing his jacket on as they hurry down the stairs. Michael crosses the bottom floor at breakneck speed and barely holds the main door open long enough for Ryan to get through.

Michael walks a ways in front of Ryan for an entire block until they get to the bus stop, and by the way his shoulders occasionally jump up, he's crying. Ryan bites his lip and waits for Michael to stop walking before he even gets close to him.

"Hey." Ryan says quietly, sitting next to Michael on the cold metal bench. Michael's turned totally away from him. "Hey, don't listen to him. Don't even think about him."

Michael's silent as he turns to glance up at Ryan, a long red mark on his cheek. His eyes are red and watery, and a thin line of black traces its way down his face. Ryan finds the tissues in his pocket and gives one to Michael without a second thought, watching quietly as he wipes his face.

"He's wrong, you know. About you. And he's an asshole." Ryan says, but this just makes a fresh tear appear at the corner of Michael's eye and run down his cheek. "Michael, you're so much better than him, he's an asshole, don't you dare waste any more crying over his assholeness." Ryan finds another tissue and gives it to him.

"It's not that." Michael says, dabbing at his eyes. He looks up, obviously trying to calm himself down, but it doesn't work, because he gasps for air and his shoulders rack up and down. 

"It's not that, it's just OH GOD I FUCKING HATE THIS WORLD!" He suddenly screams, sobbing and slamming his hand down on the bench. Ryan jumps. "I FUCKING HATE IT! WHY IS HUMANITY SO FUCKING HORRIBLE?! WHY CAN'T EVERYTHING JUST FUCKING FALL INTO PLACE?! THIS SHITTY WORLD'S NOT GOING TO GIVE YOU AN ANSWER! I FUCKING HATE IT!" 

"Okay. I know. Let it out." Ryan breathes, letting his hand rest on Michael's shoulder. "Let it out." Michael abruptly shoots up and just screams for a second, then flips his middle finger to the grey, cloudless, sky, yelling "FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU" over and over again until he runs out of breath and just cries. 

The entire situation is so horrible and unbearably sad to witness that Ryan can't look at him anymore, just stares at his hands as Michael sobs, still staring up at the sky, like that's where he wants to be, but he knows he's never going to get there.

Michael finally takes in a deep, shuddery breath and sits back down next to Ryan, holding his arms out. "Can I have a fucking hug?"

Ryan's a little taken aback, so he stutters out, "Y-yeah, sure," and just holds Michael in what is probably the worst hug ever, because Michael's arms just end up awkwardly trapped between them and he's still crying, but it's not that bad after a while, and Michael's so warm, and Ryan's suddenly so aware of Michael's leg pressed against his and how oddly soft he feels and then Michael pulls away and he's cold again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing." Michael hiccups, wiping at his face. He pats Ryan's leg. "Thank you, though."

Ryan just blinks and breathes, which is about all he's capable of at the moment. "Yeah. No problem."

"I'm so sorry, I was getting fucking hysterical, oh god. Oh god." Michael mutters, seeming to be clearing up now. "Okay. Carry on."

"I." Ryan's reduced to the state he was in when he first met Michael. "Uh."

"Don't get fucking awkward after this, okay?" Michael tells him, looking up and down the street. "Bus."

The entire bus ride is silent, but occasionally Michael hiccups and Ryan crosses his legs and uncrosses his legs and even though it should feel pretty awkward, it's not all that bad. 

 

 

 

"Um." Ryan says as soon as they get off on campus. "How about you. Get food with me in the cafeteria."

"Yeah, sure." Michael answers, and it sounds like he's about to laugh. Ryan blushes. 

"Okay." 

They cross the green (which is really more of a desolate gray now) to the indoor cafeteria, where there's a small line of students for the Chipotle. "You get a table, I'll get burritos." Ryan tells Michael, who nods and goes in search of one. He looks a little bewildered, and it occurs to Ryan that the only time Michael spends on campus is probably for his classes.

The line is pretty short, and in ten minutes Ryan has two burritos and two cappuccinos from the Starbucks. He sees Michael waiting very awkwardly at a table by the huge glass windows that take up one of the cafeteria walls, watching the other students mill around with something that looks like wariness. Ryan decides then to spare him the agony. 

"Let's take this to my room, to spare you from more social interaction than need be." Ryan says when he reaches Michael, grinning. Michael rolls his eyes, but gets up and follows Ryan over to the dorms. They take the elevator up to Ryan's floor and just walk right in, because his roommate left it wide open again. 

"I'm not nonsocial, asshole." Michael mutters, grabbing a burrito and kicking his Chucks into a corner. He sits cross-legged on Ryan's bed and shrugs his coat off. Ryan sits on his pillow at what he feels is an appropriate distance.

They take a bite at the same time and Michael makes a satisfied noise, bulldozes through half of it, then wraps the rest in the tin foil. Ryan frowns. 

"Dude, you need to eat more. You're too skinny." Michael makes a face, and Ryan pulls a Chinese accent, reaching over with a grin and pinching Michael's bony knee. "You too skinneh! You eat mo!"

Michael bats at his hand, rolling his eyes. "Fuck you, I'm just fashionably slender."

"Seriously though, how much do you weigh? You look like some Vietnamese orphan on meth."

"Like, ten pounds. Now fuck off and eat your damn burrito, you're the one who's too thin." Michael pokes at his arm. 

Ryan finishes off his Chipotle and stares at Michael's. Michael sighs and hands it over, watching Ryan devour it. 

Michael looks down at Ryan's blankets and picks at a hole that's forming. "The reason I'm so thin is all the drugs I shove into my body, okay? So don't end up like me."

"End up? We're the same age, freak."

"Whatever. Don't discriminate against me by my weight, you asshole."

Ryan thinks it over as he finishes off the burrito, and he hopes that Michael isn't involved in the serious stuff, like heroin and meth and LSD and all those nasties. He can tell Michael's a cokehead at times, but he has to wonder if it goes any further. "You're not, like, doing skag and shit, right?"

"And if I was?" Michael says immediately. Ryan's eyes widen. "Oh, come on, Ryan, don't tell me you're a good Christian virgin and bullshit me like this. I can see the fucking joint hanging out of your mouth already."

"Well, I'm a virgin, like, gay-wise, so- " 

"You've done drugs, though."

"Yeah, but I haven't shot fucking heroin."

"Okay, are we really going to push it this fucking far?" Michael snaps, and Ryan winces slightly. Michael reaches for his coat, rummages around in one pocket, and when he pulls his hand out, a small syringe is in his palm. Ryan tries to keep his jaw shut, and fails.

"Yeah, now you know, so you're going to shut up and let me explain." Michael says shortly, shoving it back in his pocket. "When I was in high school, I got really fucking addicted to this shit, and on top of that I got really fucking addicted to the crack. And you know what? The smack makes you want to fucking die, after you get off the high, but the only reason you don't kill yourself is because you want more. So don't even think about getting me off it, because it's not gonna work."

Ryan just blinks for a while, like he's learned that he usually does after Michael's monologues, but he eventually recovers from the sheer amount of words blasted at him. "Okay. Okay. I'm…not even gonna think about it. But you're not, like, seriously addicted anymore, right?" 

"Fuck no, that was high school. I'm all good now, it's just a pick-me-up." Michael shrugs. "You've never done it?"

"God, no. It's just me and my weed."

"Oh, shit, we have a toddler up in here." Michael says, grinning at him. Ryan sticks his tongue out. "That just makes you look more like a toddler, especially with that cracker afro going on."

"Fuck you, my hair's fabulous."

"Find a mirror, then get back to me on that." Michael's looking at his face, then back at his hair, then back at his face. "Actually, no, you pull it off. Marginally, I mean."

Ryan scoffs, running a hand through it. "You're jealous, I know." Michael shakes his head, grinning. "I'm so not, though."

Then, he abruptly changes the subject. "So, anyway, that asshole back there was named Dennis. He's my dad's fucking BFF."

"Ah." Ryan clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Yeah, he's an asshole."

"And I didn't feed him his own shit-stuffed intestines because there were too many of them and too few of me, and yeah, I'm too damn skinny, so it would've been bye-bye Michael's limbs and recognizable features."

"You know, it's kind of creepy how you can do that." Ryan blurts without thinking, then flinches at his own idiocy. 

"Do what?" Michael raises his eyebrows. 

"I mean, whatever I'm thinking, it's like suddenly, you know what I'm thinking and you just answer whatever it is. Like, I was just wondering why you didn't turn around and punch his lights out, because you just seem like that type of person." Ryan bites his lip. "It's fucking creepy, I swear."

"One of my many talents, after being around such shitty humans my entire life, is to read emotions like I read _Beowulf_ for extra credit in sixth grade." Michael snaps his fingers. "And your face just gives everything away, it's so hilarious."

Ryan blushes. "Shut up." Michael just laughs at him.

"See? Right there. You're an idiot." He gathers up his coat. "Okay, I need to go, because I was supposed to be at Angel Vacuum like ten years ago, but thanks for the half-burrito and listening to me complaining. I can't believe you're putting up with me, I wouldn't put up with me." 

Ryan blushes harder and stares at his blankets as Michael puts his jacket back on. "You're really not that hard to talk to, you know."

"Ha. You're a cute little motherfucker." Michael's voice is muffled as he bends over to lace up his shoes. Ryan doesn't even bother trying not to look at his ass, because it's useless. "And stop staring at my ass."

"I'M NOT- "

"I can see you, dipshit. Stop staring at my ass."

 

 

 

The minute he sits down next to Ryan in Youth Wellness on Wednesday, Michael sneezes. 

"God bless you." Hugh says cheerfully, offering Michael a tissue. 

Michael just stares at him. "I'm a fucking atheist."

Hugh looks absolutely crushed, so Ryan mouths _sorry_ in his direction just as Mr. Burns walks in. He has them all sit in a circle in the center of the room and do this stupid meditation thing, but it doesn't really work because Michael keeps coughing and eventually Mr. Burns just gives up and lets them go.

"You're infected, then." Ryan tells him as they walk down the hall. Michael turns his head to cough into his sleeve.

"Shut up."

He doesn't even show up to class on Friday, and when Ryan gets back to his dorm, the phone rings within thirty seconds. "I can't do it tomorrow, I'm going to fucking kick the bucket." Michael informs him, sounding like a nicotine-addicted frog. Ryan almost laughs.

"Uh, but, no. It only counts if we do the thing together, so that's impossible. And we have to make up for the hours we missed Sunday."

"Oh, fuck, you're right, but I think I have the fucking plague, so you'd better stay twenty feet away from me while I scoop the dog shit or whatever."

"Yeah, yeah." 

Ryan goes to meet him on their usual spot on the green and finds that he's already getting used to it, oddly enough. 

He guesses that he and Michael are kind of friends now, thrown together by two horrible turns of events, except Ryan had control over his, and Michael didn't. Ryan can settle for kind of friends, and beyond that he can't even think about. Because he's going to keep his promise to Michael, and unlike most of the Phi Epsilon guys, Ryan's a gentleman. 

Ryan sees a huge bundle of _thing_ shuffling toward him and nearly yells bloody murder, but then he realizes who it is. Michael looks like a head, a giant ball of coat, scarf, second coat, and whatever else he's wearing, two spider legs coming out of the ball, and two Doc Martens stuck onto the ends. Ryan tries to hold it in, but as Michael nears him, he cracks up. 

"Shut up, asshole." Michael mutters, waddling up and slapping his arm. His raspy frog voice just makes it even more hilarious and Ryan cracks up again. Michael gives him a murderous look, then turns on his heel and motions for Ryan to follow him. "The ASPCA's in Ypsi, I think."

When they get to Ypsilanti, it's busier than it was the first time, with factory workers and industrial managers bustling around. Michael finds his way to the ASPCA and the guy at the desk shows them around the animal cages. There's so many abandoned cats and dogs curled up in the corners, and it reminds Ryan of his family's dog Carter back in Florida, who was about to be taken off to the pound before they found him. 

"So, if you could take the dogs out for a good walk and brush them down, that would be so helpful. And after you're done with that, if you could just play with the cats for a while and maybe brush them, that would be great as well."

"Awesome." Ryan glances over at Michael, who's locked in a staring match with an orange tabby. "We'll do our best."

"Okay, I guess we can do three at a time. I'll get…" Ryan surveys the dogs after the dude walks away. "That German Shepherd, that big white mutt thing, and the Yorkie. You can have the lab, the dachshund, and that little brown guy."

"What, you still think I'm weak?" Michael snaps, sneezing at the end of it. Ryan just looks at him, the German Shepherd, then back at him. "God, fine." 

All the dogs seem ecstatic to see them, like most dogs always are, and Ryan easily slips his three into leashes. Michael, however, clearly has no idea how to deal with animals and just ends up holding out the collar like a bullfighter and trying to coax the lab into it, while the dachshund and the brown, patchy mutt sit and wag their tails. 

"Like this." Ryan says, unclipping the collar and fastening it around the lab's neck. 

"Yeah, well, he kept trying to make out with my hand, so." Michael gets the collars onto the others successfully, though, and Ryan leads them outside. 

Ryan tries to walk peacefully ahead, but every few seconds, his serene silence is shattered by a yell of "NO!" or "You can't fucking poop there, goddammit!" or a really loud sneeze-cough combo, and he feels his tranquility slipping away each time. They circle around four blocks and then Michael starts complaining.

"Ryan, my hand is turning blue." He whines, and when Ryan looks back, he sees the lab licking at it. "I'm going to die."

"Lord." Ryan mumbles under his breath, spinning around. "Let's go back, then, princess."

He walks next to Michael, who really does look like he's about to freeze over, and when they get to the ASPCA, Michael heads for the tissue box and sneezes five times in a row. "Oh god." He groans, throwing the tissues away and eyeing the cans of food set out. "Just feed them, Michael, just feed them." Michael mutters to himself, grabbing a can opener and getting to work. 

When the dogs are back in their cages, food is in their bowls, and they've been brushed down, Ryan decides Michael needs a break and asks the guy where a good lunch place is. He directs them to a little Italian deli a couple blocks down, recommending the hero sandwiches. But when Michael steps outside again, he whines and shrinks back. "Nope, nope, nope, just grab me whatever and I'll pay you back." He says, teeth chattering, and Ryan shakes his head.

"What is up with you and getting cold?"

"I have no fucking clue, okay, I've been like this since I was a kid." Michael makes a panicky sound when little clumps of snow start coming down. "God damn you, Michigan. But whenever I got in pools, I didn't want to get my face wet because I thought it would freeze."

"You just have to start walking. You're wearing, like, a hundred layers."

"I can't. My knees are locked."

"Come here." Ryan sighs, breath ghosting in the air, and he convinces himself that what he's doing is completely necessary and is in no way for his own benefit, no matter how much his brain fights him. "I'll fucking keep you warm, just walk with me. I don't wanna go alone."

Michael glowers at him, pouting like some angry baby, which Ryan has the nerve to think is kind of cute, but he drives that thought away as Michael steps closer. Ryan takes off his gloves and hands them to Michael, who protests a little weakly, but puts them on anyway. Michael's starting to shiver again, and Ryan slings an arm around him and pulls him closer as Michael starts hopping down the street. 

Ryan's cheeks flush, and not just from the cold. Michael's teeth are chattering audibly and he presses closer to Ryan, seemingly indifferent. To Michael, this is probably just another way to stay warm. 

"Oh hell, I'm disgusting, I don't even know why you're doing this." Michael says miserably as he turns his head to cough into his sleeve. Ryan lets his arm slip down around Michael's waist because he's getting tired of holding it up and he's cold too and he also kind of just likes how it feels. "You know you're going to be my personal fucking heater from now on."

"Hey, I'm freezing too, so you can suck it up." Ryan shivers as they come to a halt in front of the little deli, which looks warm and inviting. "Thank god, okay, get in there."

Michael peels away from him and Ryan immediately feels a cold draft against his side where Michael was pressed, but Michael's holding the door for him and he doesn't really have time to think about what the hell he just did. 

Michael orders a bowl of minestrone soup and a hero for Ryan, saying he'll pay for it. They plow through them at a table looking out at the street, and when they're done, Ryan goes back to the counter and gets two cannoli. 

"Fooood." Michael observes when Ryan sets them down on the table. But a movement from outside catches Ryan's attention, and he looks out the window to see a poor-looking mother and her tiny son walking past. The little boy stops and presses his face to the glass, staring down at the pastries. A drop of drool falls from his mouth. 

Scoffing, Michael takes a huge bite of his. "Dream on, kid." Ryan gives him a _you're an asshole_ look, and Michael shrugs. 

But a moment later, Michael's murmuring "oh, screw this" and scraping his chair back, and before Ryan knows it, he's outside. Ryan watches the little boy look up at Michael, a little bewildered by him, because honestly, what kid wouldn't be? Ryan can tell Michael's uncomfortably cold again, but he smiles down at the boy and holds out his cannoli, saying something Ryan can't make out. The mother comes up and starts to scold the boy, but Michael says something to her, and she smiles gratefully, nudging the boy forward.

The boy reaches out and takes the cannoli, biting into it, and he makes a blissed-out face. Ryan can hear Michael's laugh through the glass, and he looks down at his cannoli, feeling sort of guilty. 

The door jingles and Michael sits back down in front of him, still smiling. The tip of his nose is red like it always gets in the cold, and Ryan tries not to ruminate on how adorable it makes him look (minus the angry-liner.) "Yeah, he kinda needed it more than I did."

Ryan smiles, watching them walk slowly away. "I guess."

In his mind, he replaces the little boy with Michael, and the mother as whatever Michael's own mother looked like. He wonders if Michael did the same.

When he looks back, Michael has taken his cannoli and eaten half of it, a crumb on the edge of his mouth. "Didn't say you needed it more than I did, asshole." He says, mouth full of pastry, and Ryan just laughs and grabs what's left of it. 

Michael doesn't seem to need as much personal heater as he did coming from the ASPCA, but he does take Ryan's arm in both of his and shivers along with him that way. Ryan's not even sure if Michael's aware of what he's doing. 

When they get back to the ASPCA, the guy is gone, so Michael decides they can probably just take the three cats out by themselves. He goes to hang up his jackets, and underneath, he's wearing a thin, dark grey long sleeve, pretty much the same as the black one, but the neck is wider, and the edges of his collarbones show through at the top. 

Ryan's reminded of an article one of his sisters showed him in Seventeen Magazine, asking if he'd find it sexy. It had a "guy opinion" comment where some dude in Washington said he found it really sexy when a girl was wearing a really puffy, huge coat on top of her clothes, but then took it off to reveal a tight, form-fitting dress.

 _Well, try when Michael Phelps takes off his coat and flashes his fucking collarbones_ , Ryan wants to tell Seventeen Magazine, _and you'll think twice._ Michael makes the girls Ryan used to date look damn slutty, and even though he's a guy and can't go much snugger with his jeans without his dick, like, breaking, Ryan doesn't even want to think of him without clothes on or he's going to have a heart attack.

The shadows on that damn collarbone deepen as Michael reaches down to unlock one of the cat's cages. The orange tabby pads out and stretches in front of him, then walks up to Ryan and rubs against his black Vans, leaving orange hairs all over them. "Gee, thanks." Ryan mumbles, reaching down to pet the cat. 

Michael laughs as he clicks open the next two cages, and a fat grey cat with a split ear comes out first, also gravitating toward Ryan. Ryan groans and decides that he should probably sit if this is going to work, placing the tabby in his lap and letting the grey planet-shaped guy sit on his feet, purring. 

He looks up from petting the tabby and sees that a tiny black kitten has emerged from the last cage, meowing softly. Michael holds out his fingers and the kitten sniffs them cautiously, then nuzzles against his hand. 

"Awww." Michael laughs, scooting closer on his knees and rubbing over the kitten's ears. He notices Ryan watching them and smiles. "He's adorable." On closer inspection, Michael corrects himself, "I mean, uh, she."

Ryan snorts and reaches down to run his hand over the grey one's back. It settles deeper into his feet, purring, and closes its eyes. "Great." Ryan grimaces. He won't be moving for the rest of his life. 

Meanwhile, Michael is busy cooing to the kitten, and he picks it up, going to sit next to Ryan. "You are so cuuuuute." Michael practically squeals, setting it down in his lap. The kitten mewls and tries to climb up his chest, claws catching in his shirt, and Michael laughs, lifting it onto his shoulder, where it nuzzles into his hair. "Oh god, Ryan, I want it." 

Ryan feels something warm spread around his stomach and travel upward, stopping just above his lungs. It's strange, and even though he's felt it before, he's never paid much attention to it until now. He smiles. "Maybe you can take her home."

"Nah, Ben's allergic. But she's the cutest fucking thing in the world, aren't you? Yes you are." Michael says, talking to the kitten now, who purrs and swipes her tail across his face. "Aside from myself, of course."

Ryan laughs, and the kitten slides back down Michael's chest and starts pawing at his arms. Michael reaches across Ryan's lap for the box of cat toys and pulls out a squeaky mouse on the end of a string. He dangles it above the kitten and it jumps up, batting and meowing as Michael moves it across his lap, giggling.

"I wouldn't do- " Ryan warns, but the kitten pounces, digging her claws into Michael's thigh. "FUCK SHIT FUCK!" Michael yells, but the kitten just wrestles around with the mouse and rolls over playfully in his lap. Ryan extracts the toy from its claws and puts it back in the box. "Maybe not."

"Nope." Michael agrees, going back to petting it. The kitten purrs happily and snuggles up against Michael's stomach.

Ryan's fat grey cat grumbles and gets up, padding away and curling into a ball by the dachshund's cage. The dachshund pants and wags its tail, but the cat eyes it belligerently and it shrinks back. The tabby in his lap just meows and noses at his hand.

"Ah, Ryan…" Michael says, and when Ryan looks over, the kitten has fallen asleep in Michael's lap, curled against his shirt. Michael glances up at him and giggles, and it occurs to Ryan that this is probably his first time being around animals in a long time, and that's when he thinks _he's so cute_.

Ryan blushes and looks quickly away, because NO, what is his brain doing, Michael isn't cute. Michael has problems. Michael is a drug addict, Michael cuts himself, Michael's known to everyone as a crazy slut trying to divorce his dad. Michael wears eyeliner because less guys grope him, and probably just because he _can_. He is the opposite of cute.

Ryan furiously drills this into himself as Michael laughs next to him, his skin doing that weird prickly thing again when Michael moves his arm to cough into his elbow. "Hey, we should probably get going. Our time's up."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Michael picks the kitten up a little sadly and it stirs, but stays asleep. He puts it back in its cage as Ryan coaxes his two cats back into their own. 

After Ryan puts some dry kibble in their bowls, Michael pulls his many coats back on and they step back out. Michael immediately has a sneezing fit and waves at Ryan to go to the corner and wait for the bus there. 

"Oh god, what is this world." Michael groans, eyes watering. 

"Look, do you need, like, Sudafed or whatever? Because you're pretty much in tears."

Michael glares at him. "No, dammit, I don't need Sudafed. Now get on the bus, it's here."

When they do get on, Michael starts yawning on top of his coughing, and Ryan makes sure that they sit as far in the back as possible so as not to infect the rest of Michigan. "God, you're a wreck." Michael just mumbles "well you're an assbutt" and leans his head back against the seat, probably trying to restore oxygen to his brain. 

Ryan sighs and closes his eyes. He's been damn tired lately and he feels like even though they're thirteen hours in already, they should be further. And with Michael sick, he doesn't know about tomorrow. 

Suddenly, there's a soft weight against his side, and Ryan opens his eyes to see Michael slumped against him, dead to the world. 

"Shit." Ryan says to himself, and he wants to wake Michael up but he also doesn't, so Ryan battles with himself for a minute before coming to the conclusion that if he wakes Michael up, he'll probably be killed. So he lets himself just awkwardly sit and feel Michael's head on his shoulder and try not to think about how warm he is and how he smells good, not a fake smell like cologne, but something just his skin can produce. 

Two old women get on the bus and sit across from them, and Ryan feels his face heat up as they chortle at them. "Kids these days." One of them croaks, smiling at him, and Ryan does his best to smile back, but his face is too stiff.

He looks out the window and sees the snow falling down, and it almost covers their street sign. "Michael." He whispers, nudging Michael's cheek with his shoulder. "Hey you, wake up." Michael whines and leans to slump the other way, sniffling. Ryan sighs. "Get up. Get up."

Eventually, he successfully shakes Michael awake just as the bus pulls to a halt, and Michael just struggles up and sneezes again, wobbling toward the doors. Ryan takes his arm and kind of just drags him down the steps and deposits him on the sidewalk. "Fuuuuuck. Ryannnn." Michael whines, voice raspy and barely audible. 

"Alright, quit bitching, we'll get you home." Ryan sighs, turning Michael around when he tries to head the opposite direction and almost launches himself in front of the bus. "Come on."

They make their way slowly but surely back to Michael's house, and when they get inside, Michael almost slumps over in the doorway, so Ryan decides he should probably stick around for a little. "Michael, where's your room?" Michael gestures vaguely to the stairs and Ryan sets off, basically carrying him up. 

"Take off your coat and go to sleep." Ryan instructs him when they reach the top of the stairs, and Michael shrugs off his coat, tosses it in a corner, and staggers toward the small room at the end of the hall. Ryan follows him to make sure he doesn't fall down and break his head open. 

Michael's room is tiny, the walls covered with posters again, but this time of more random stuff than the living room downstairs. One of the weirdest is just a photograph of a hand, painted entirely blue, making the sign language for "K." His bed looks too small for his body at first, but when Michael sits heavily down on it, it seems to get bigger. Above it hangs a giant print of the famous photograph of John Lennon and Yoko Ono lying in bed together, with Yoko completely clothed and John completely naked.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Michael asks incoherently, kicking his boots across the floor and starting to shove his covers back. Ryan rolls his eyes.

"To make sure you don't die, you're not checking out on me now. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"I have no idea, but I've gotten this asshole of a cold before." Michael says, getting under his blankets and pulling them around him. He buries his face in his pillow. "And when I get sick, I fucking get sick, you know? Like, my body's all 'okay Michael, I'm going to completely shut down our immune system for five days, have a nice fucking life.'" 

Ryan laughs, but Michael looks like he's already falling back asleep. "Okay, well, I'm going to go, now. Have a nice fucking life."

Michael makes a noise and waves his hand above the covers. "Wait, wait, wait."

"What?"

"Will you get me the beer in the fridge?"

Ryan rolls his eyes, reaching forward to slap at the lump under the covers. "Absolutely not. See you tomorrow."

 

 

 

"Today is an official no-goddamn-physical-activity day, so I already have a plan." Michael informs him the second Ryan opens the door to his loud, persistent knocking on Sunday. He can't make sense of Michael's sporadic sleep patterns, because one day he's up at five thirty, and the next there's no opening his eyes unless it's past noon. 

"Whazzat?" Ryan mumbles. Michael's eyes sweep over his outfit, which is a pair of boxers with sheep flying rockets on them. 

"You're a dipshit." Michael tells him, pushing past to set his backpack down on the bed. It looks particularly overstuffed today, with god-knows-what about to spill out. Ryan's roommate groans and turns over. 

"Ryan, who the hell is this?" Bill says sleepily, then his eyes widen as he sees Michael glaring at him. "Oh. Hi, Michael."

"Yeah, hi to you too. Now go the fuck to sleep and don't bother us, we have shit to take care of." Michael snaps, shrugging his coat off and hanging it up on the back of the door. Today, he has his long-sleeve Radiohead t-shirt that at least covers up his damn collarbone. 

"Do you know him?" Ryan hisses, making an apologetic gesture to Bill as Michael starts unzipping his backpack. Michael shakes his head.

"No, dipshit, he thinks he knows me. I don't know him." Ryan's reminded once again of Michael's reputation across campus that he somehow missed for the first three months of school, and he just shakes his head, watching as Michael roots through his bag.

Bill never cleans up his parts of the room and sometimes lets his mess travel over to Ryan's side and he's kind of a bitch all of the time, but Ryan doesn't say anything about it. Michael dumps his backpack out on the bed, and Ryan sees, unexplainably, a cookbook, a cupcake pan, flour, a tin of icing, and an actual carton of eggs. "What the hell."

"It's motherfucking bake sale day." Michael says triumphantly, sweeping his arm over the backing equipment. "Observe, the superlative quality of King Arthur All-Purpose! Gasp in wonder at the glossy, nacreous texture of Eggland's Best! Sigh in appreciation at the baking ingenuity of Julia Child!" 

Ryan just stares at him. "God, you're so weird."

"Fuck you, Phi Epsilon." Michael eyes him. "You're not getting out of this, because I've wanted to make these cupcakes ever since I was seven fucking years old, and you're doing it with me, dammit."

Ryan sighs, shaking his head. "Well, I have no choice." He scrubs his hands over his face, groaning. "I'm being abused. Michael, you're an abusive partner."

"Stop bitching and put some pants on, how about that." Michael commands, already flipping open the cookbook.

Luckily, Ryan's dorm room came with an attached kitchen, so when he's dressed, they set up in there. Michael seems to have recovered from his cold overnight, rude and abrupt as usual. "No, fucker, it says put the eggs in first." Michael bats at his hand. "Just lemme do this. Lemme do this."

It takes them around two hours, but by three, they have thirty chocolate cupcakes with pink (because Michael got it as a Breast Cancer Awareness special) frosting sitting on the counter. Ryan punches Michael's outstretched fist. "Fuck yeah baking." Michael enthuses, then rustles around in the drawers of the kitchen until he finds a platter-looking-thing from Ryan's mom. "We'll put 'em on here and donate the proceeds to, like, No Kid Hungry or something. Fifty cents each?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Okay, let's set up on that church on the north edge of campus, 'cause there's all these charitable fucking Christians around there."

Ryan finds a tiny fold-up table sitting around, Michael carries the cupcakes on the platter, and they walk to the church, taking the scenic route. Well, what used to be pretty trees and flowers, but it now more dead branches and crunchy brown leaves. 

"You know what, fuck winter." Michael says, angrily kicking at a patch of snow and making the cupcakes wobble. "Fuck you, snow, you're an asshole. I mean, first it kills all the plants, then it makes all the animals disappear, and like, what if they have shit to take care of, nope, they gotta go hibernate, and then it makes people fucking freeze to death, and it's just such a shitty guy. Fuck you, snow."

"I think you're high." Ryan tells Michael, and Michael nods. 

"I am. It's just weed, though, don't worry, I'm not sticking anything in my arm today."

They reach the church and set up across the street, and pretty soon, the "charitable fucking Christians" come milling out and snap up fifteen of the cupcakes. Some students walk by and grab three of them, chowing down the minute they have them. 

Ryan handles marketing and sales advertisement, and Michael handles the cash box, which is decided after Michael's first attempt at promotions, when some guys on the football team walk by and spot their bake sale, then pause for a moment and talk amongst themselves. 

Michael, being his impatient and snippy self, strides right up to them, hisses, "Buy the fucking cupcakes and help the starving orphans in Zimbabwe, you shitheads," and the guys just run across the street for dear life. Michael makes a dismissive noise. "Bah. Misers."

Ryan then enforces himself on that post, and pretty soon, they only have eight cupcakes left. Michael stuffs the cashbox where no one can see it. "Save two so we can eat them. And I wanna give one to Andy, that dude goes fucking weeks without eating."

"Yeah, sure." Ryan says, waving and smiling at a group of girls across the street. "Hey, ladies, care for a cupcake?" They titter and whisper, but don't walk over.

Suddenly, a couple guys from Phi Epsilon turn the corner, wearing coats over their all-too-recognizable letter jackets, and Ryan bites his lip. He can practically hear Michael stiffen behind him. "Hey! Ryan!" One of them says, and Ryan thinks his name is Johnny, but he can't quite remember. 

"Hey, man." He says, walking forward and accepting the other guy, Brett's, bro-hug. 

"Listen, Ryan… " Brett says, trying to look sympathetic and failing. He just cuts straight to the point. "Luke really didn't wanna let you go, you know?" Luke Drummond is the fraternity president and a senior at Michigan. "He feels real bad, man. And whenever this shitty DUI punishment deal runs out, we want you back, okay?"

Ryan laughs, but inside, he's slowly freezing over.

Because a couple weeks ago, if a guy from Phi Epsilon had told him that, Ryan would probably have tackled him and screamed in victory. 

But now, he's just acutely aware of Michael's dead silence behind him, and he feels more a sense of dread than excitement. 

"Sounds great, man." He manages, and Johnny claps a hand on his shoulder. 

"How you holding up with the fucking community service and shit?"

"Ah, it's not that bad," Ryan begins, but Johnny looks over his shoulder and sees Michael. Ryan sees the glint in his eyes.

"Oh, you're paired with him?" Johnny looks ready to crack up, and he lowers his voice. "Sorry, dude."

Ryan's fully frozen now, unable to even come up with a response, but he just hears Brett saying "see you around, buddy," and the two guys start walking away. 

"Hey, fag." Johnny says in a high-pitched falsetto, snickering at Michael. 

Ryan turns around, sees Michael's enraged expression, and is about to tell the Phi Epsilon guys to run for their life, because their asses are going to get whooped, but it's too late. 

"Hey, ASSHOLE!" Michael screams, reaching for two cupcakes, and when Brett and Johnny turn around, surprised, the cupcakes splat in their faces. 

Ryan is so shocked and so dead right at that moment that the only thing he can think to do is turn away and try to hold in his laughter, unsuccessfully. Brett and Johnny yelp and actually land on their butts. Michael stalks up to them, two more cupcakes in his hands. 

"You fucking dickheads, you think you're so goddamn cool?!" Michael yells, beaning Brett in the skull with a cupcake that sticks in his dirty blond hair. "Maybe that'll raise your IQ a couple points, shitface!" Brett stammers something like an apology, and Michael just shoves his side with the toe of his boot. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to use so many fucking syllables!" Johnny gets one on his crotch next, and by then, Ryan's just a shaking pile of mess behind the table. "BEAT IT, SLIMEWADS!"

And just like that, Brett and Johnny scramble away, pink icing and chocolate cake all over them. Michael turns back, breathing hard, and Ryan just laughs even more at the victorious expression on his face. 

"Oh god." Ryan gets out, slapping at the table. "Oh god, I think I'm gonna piss myself-"

"Yeah, well, they're asswipes, and they deserve it." Michael dusts off his hands. "I can't believe you hang out with guys like that."

"Well…" Ryan calms himself down, standing. "More like used to hang out with, when I was still in Phi Epsilon."

"You still hung out with them."

Ryan glances in the direction Brett and Johnny ran away, and he can't deny that if he was still with Phi Epsilon, he probably would have been walking with those guys. He probably would have been the one to call Michael a fag, if he knew about it, all the while hiding himself. He probably would have just laughed. 

He wonders if Michael still would have assaulted them with cupcakes if they weren't paired together. Probably.

He wonders if he's changing Michael, or if Michael's changing him. 

A movement across the street catches his eye and Ryan sees a sketchy-looking guy crossing, headed toward them. "Fifty cents a cupcake. Help the orphans of Zimbabwe." Ryan says, and the guy just nods, going right up to the stand. Michael narrows his eyes, moving silently behind the table. 

"Look, do you want it or- " Michael starts, but the guy's hand suddenly shoots out and grabs a cupcake, then he takes off in the opposite direction, disappearing around the corner. "HEY! GET BACK HERE, FUCKBUCKET!" Michael screeches. "HOW MANY GODDAMN PEOPLE AM I GOING TO FUCKING BEAT UP TODAY, HUH?!"

Ryan dashes off after the guy, but he gets quickly into a run-down old car and drives off, gunning the engine. Michael comes up behind him, panting. "Do you have your phone?"

"Yeah, why?" Ryan pulls it out. 

"Look up where Bob's Auto Repairs is."

"Why?"

"It's where the asshole works, it was on his shirt. Jesus Christ, just do it."

Ryan Googles it and sees that it's in Ann Arbor, but not very close to them. "Michael, it's way north. It's just a cupcake."

Michael makes an angry noise. "No, dammit, that was MY cupcake! And I actually give a fuck about Zimbabwean orphans, so we're fucking chasing that guy down. Damn you, Bob's Auto Repair Sketchy Bum Doucheface IV, the fucking heat is on."

"What the fuck-" Ryan tries, but Michael's already scooping up the cashbox. 

"Leave the table, we're going back to my house and getting my bike. And hurry up."

Michael sprints all the way back to his house, carrying the two remaining cupcakes in a plastic bag, and Ryan's out of breath by the time they get there. "Michael, it's just a damn cupcake, leave it- "

"NO, IDIOT!" Michael yells from the alley, wheeling out his bike, which is some old-fashioned wicker basket hipster thing. "You can't let fuckery like that slide! What if he actually stole something valuable, huh? Oh, Michael, it's just a diamond necklace from Harry Winston's fall 1994 collection, leave it. Nope. We're going after him."

Ryan doesn't even know what he's saying anymore, but it sounds like he's convincing himself that this is a good idea. "Oh god, what the fuck ever, just let me bike. You get on back."

"I can fucking ride a- "

"I can do it better."

Michael deliberates for a half-second, then shoves the bike toward Ryan. "God, fine. But you're following my fucking directions."

Ryan gets on and Michael slips behind him, wrapping his arms around Ryan's waist. "Okay, go straight, move."

It's a long ride, but Michael isn't heavy, and he punctuates each block with "RIGHT!" and "LEFT!" and "YOUR OTHER LEFT, ASSHOLE!" and "STRAIGHT!" Ryan doesn't have time to be distracted by Michael sitting so close behind him. Within fifteen minutes, Ryan finds himself screeching to a halt in front of Bob's Auto Repairs. Michael gets his legs over one side of the bike and hops down, then dashes to the main shop. "Wait outside while I deal with this fucker."

"What? No, I… oh, geez." Michael's already inside, head whipping back and forth as he looks for the guy. Ryan takes cover right next to the window, where only he can see what's going on, and just waits hopelessly. He realizes that when Michael sets his mind to something, there's really nothing that can stop him. 

It's so unlikely and probably a 0.00005% chance that it would actually happen, but Cupcake Thief comes through the back door of the shop, carrying the cupcake. Miraculously, it's still untouched. 

Michael lets out an enraged bellow that Ryan can hear through the glass and pounces, the guy yelling in shock as Michael knocks him to the ground. Michael starts screaming a mix of expletive-ridden insults and straddles the guy so he can't escape, snatching the cupcake from his hand. The guy looks scared out of his mind, and Ryan just lets his mouth hang open as he watches. 

Michael screams one last thing and then stands, banging the door of the shop open. "Holy shit." Ryan breathes, but Michael's apparently not finished yet, because he presses the backs of his hands to the glass as the guy struggles up and flips him off, yelling "ASSHOLE!" and brandishing both his middle fingers. Then he makes the "fuck you" motion with his arm in the crook of his elbow and starts flipping the guy off again, waving the cupcake around all the while.

"Ohhhkay, I think that's enough for you." Ryan mutters once he's regained his senses, breezing by as nonchalantly as possible and grabbing Michael around the waist. Michael keeps flipping the guy off as Ryan drags him back to the bike, then just sticks his tongue out when the guy runs out the back door. 

"Ha. Cowardly asshole." Michael breathes triumphantly, flipping his hair. "Revenge is sweet."

He thinks it's the little 'revenge is sweet' at the end that does it, but Ryan makes it exactly two seconds before he starts laughing so hard that he tears up. Michael just stares at him, but that just makes it even more hilarious, because the entire thing is so what the fuck, who would actually travel across Ann Arbor for a stolen cupcake, and what the fuck. "Oh god." Ryan wails, doubled over. Michael narrows his eyes. 

"What- "

"Oh god, you're so weird." Ryan wipes at his eyes. "You are so. Damn. Weird."

"Fuck off." Michael mumbles, blushing slightly. "You so would have done the same thing."

"I SO wouldn't have, though! This was all entirely you!" Ryan hoots, trying to stand up, but the pain in his abs is too much. "Oh, man, I can't breathe, that guy's fucking face, oh lord. Ah, Michael, you are so fucking weird, I don't understand you."

"Shut up." Michael's obviously trying to fight smiling, but it's not working, because soon, that grin appears on his face. "Shut up."

"You are the weirdest friend I have ever had in my entire life, and that is never going to change." Ryan exhales, stretching out. 

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so I'm your friend now."

Ryan's too out of it to even think about what he says. "Yeah."

"Okay. Cool." Michael mutters, shaking his head. Ryan doesn't look up to see his expression, and later, he wonders what Michael looked like. "Now get the fuck onto the bike, we have to go to Angel Vacuum."

"Okay. Okay." Ryan wipes at his face one last time, then gets on the bike. Michael wraps his arms around him again, and this time, Ryan is aware of it, but it's not as awkward as it usually would be. "Angel Vacuum it is."

 

 

 

When they walk into Solar Powered Angel Vacuum Records, leaving the bike in the lot next to it, Andy is actually standing up and coherent behind the back counter.

"Michaaaael!" Andy says affectionately, rushing forward. He wraps his unmuscled, lanky arms around Michael's middle. "Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi."

"Hi, butthead." Michael greets him, then frowns as he sees Andy's spiky bangs. "Andy, I told you not to use the Schwarzkopf. Look at this."

"My girlfriend likes it better, what was I supposed to say?" Andy sighs, letting go of Michael and grinning at Ryan. "Hi. I'm Andy, Michael's hard-ass boss." Michael rolls his eyes. 

Ryan grins. "I'm Ryan. Michael and I are saddled with each other for our community service hours."

"Oh, poor you. Poor, poor you." Andy says, elbowing Michael away when he tries to slap at his shoulder. They're about the same height, and could even pass as cousins if Andy's hair wasn't black. "So, that's why my bootlicker here has been ditching me on weekends."

"Well, no, actually. You're licking my boots, because without me you'd be flat broke by now, asshole." Michael says matter-of-factly. "Anyway. You needed me to get those Vampire Weekend shirts shipped, right?"

"Yup. Get to it."

Michael disappears into the back room, and Ryan just kind of stands awkwardly and hopes Andy has social skills. "How many hours do y'all have to do?" Andy asks. 

"Fifty. It's harsh."

"Fucking hell. I'm so sorry." Andy grins. "I mean, not about doing them with Michael, but like, the fifty part."

"Oh, yeah. No, he's cool."

Andy glances back at the storeroom. "He's a good kid. I mean, you probably know about all that shit that happened to him. I'm surprised he's even still living."

"I know." Ryan sighs. "Like, his dad… I've never met the dude, I've only known Michael for like a couple weeks, but he just sounds like the worst fucker ever."

Andy nods solemnly. "Yeah. Once, Michael and I were walking back from work, and Michael saw him, and dude, he literally bolted in the opposite direction. He was so freaked out, he was like, gonna die. It was rough."

"I bet."

Michael emerges from the back room, a MacBook in his hand. "You said it was to San Diego?"

"Yeah." 

Michael clicks something, then shuts the computer. "Done." Andy hi-fives him. "I hope you two had a real fucking nice bonding session while I was on the grind."

Andy laughs, heading to the back of the store. "You're lucky you got this awesome dude!" He shouts from the desk, and there's a clattering sound and swearing. 

"Wrong!" Michael shouts back, grinning. Andy walks back through the aisles with a pack of cigarettes and three glasses with some lemony-looking drink sloshing around in them. "Oh, aaaand… " Andy looks up, panting like a dog, and Ryan snorts. Michael holds out the three reunited cupcakes. "Look what we made."

"Oh, shit, you are my one true love." Andy throws his arms around Michael and tries to grab them at the same time, but Michael tuts and holds them out of his reach. 

"Share, asshole." Michael grins and hands Ryan his, then gives the rather smashed, depressing one to Andy. "There."

"Mwah." Andy holds the cupcake out in front of him and makes an o face. "God, I just want you inside me." Michael and Ryan crack up, crumbs falling onto the floor. 

"Oh, and you know what I heard?" Andy says, sitting on the ledge at the front of the store and pulling up a chair. Ryan flops down in it. "Shane's at Lenny's doing that show he was so fucking stoked about." Andy takes a bite of the cupcake and makes a happy noise. "Oh yeah. This shit's got something going."

"Yeah, I know." Michael chomps half of his cupcake down in one bite. "He was so excited and successful-sounding, I wanted to slap him."

"Ryan, have you met Shane?"

"Yeah. He seems pretty awesome."

"Character, isn't he? He's so adorable, god, I haven't seen him in years." Michael steals one of Andy's cigarettes and lets it hang from the corner of his mouth. Andy flicks his lighter at the tip. He holds one out to Ryan, but Ryan shakes his head. Ryan's tried smoking once and almost coughed his lungs out onto the floor. 

"Yeah, he seems pretty cool." 

"Here, try this." Andy says, holding out one of the drinks. Michael makes an excited noise and takes it, Andy glaring at him. "Not you, you fucking alcoholic nineteen-year-old druggie." But he lets it go with a smile when Michael makes a pouty face, grabbing the other one and handing it to Ryan.

"It's Andy's mind-eraser special, it'd be a grievous offense if you didn't take it." Michael informs him, tossing his back with a satisfied sigh. 

The moment Ryan takes a sip, his mouth feels like its set on fire by the sheer alcoholic content, like someone mixed vodka with isopropyl. But once the burn fades, a fresh, pleasantly lemony taste is left in his mouth. "Oh, shit, this kicks ass." He comments, and Andy smiles and downs his. 

"Yeah, right? Made it up myself. Oh, oh my god, and Michael, look what came in." Andy gets up and shuffles around at the back of a record-filled shelf, then emerges with a blackish-blue record sleeve covered with yellow stars. Michael shrieks and grabs it, pressing kisses to the front.

"AHH! Bringing Down The Horse!"

Andy sits back down, grinning. Ryan sips the rest of his drink and feels it go to his head, dulling his senses slightly. "Michael's been killing my ass to get The Wallflowers for like a month." He takes the record from Michael and looks at the back. "What's that song you love so much? 5th Avenue Heartburn or whatever?"

"No, dipshit, 6th Avenue Heartache." Michael says, rolling his eyes. He drags out the turntable. "Ryan, you need to listen to this, this shit is like, on par with Wedding Song."

Andy snorts. "Oh god, Michael's already played that for you? He, like, assaults me with that. I swear. Hacked into my fucking phone and set it as his ringtone."

Michael snaps his fingers. "Cyber fucking Security minor, losers." He puts Bringing Down The Horse onto the player and drops the needle. "Just listen and die." 

Ryan knows that Bob Dylan's son, Jakob, is the lead singer, and he was definitely expecting him to have the Bob nasal twangy voice that everyone always pretends is the spirit of peace and love but is really just reminiscent of a strep patient. But Jakob's voice is so much better, even though people always say he's so much less talented and gives him crap. And Ryan can practically hear Michael in the song, can picture him dancing around to it or whatever. 

"Right? Right?" Michael punches his arm as the song reaches the middle. It's a little repetitive, but the band pulls it off. "They're fucking talented."

"Yeah, it's good stuff." Ryan will admit to himself that Michael's taste is not to be questioned. 

"Meh. Too country-influenced." Andy comments, digging around in a pile of used records. "We need get-high music." 

"Uh- " Ryan says, but Michael just shushes him and pulls The Wallflowers off. "What, like, Tame Impala?"

"No, these fuckers right here." Andy grins, holding up a white record with a huge, oily-looking X on the front. Michael snickers and snatches it. 

"Oh god, I'm feeling Angels. The shrooms anthem." Michael turns to Ryan. "Ryan Lochte, this is The XX, probably one of the most badass stoner rock bands in the current universe."

"I. Um." Ryan says helplessly, but then Andy's fishing four joints out of his pocket and, well, Ryan can't really say no, because it's fucking weed and he hasn't had any since the DUI. Some weird, spacy beat and instruments come from the turntable, and Michael is darn right. It's Get Fucking High music. 

So they smoke a joint apiece, then Andy does the second one without pausing. "Ah, no, seriously, Ryan. Ryan." Michael giggles, falling over to sprawl out across Andy's lap. It clearly works its way in easily on him. "This is so frakking light for him. Hee hee."

"Omg, no way." Ryan slurs, scratching at the side of his head. Andy just grunts, examining the wrinkles at his finger joints. 

"Spontaneous freestyle battle!" Michael suddenly proclaims, punching his fist up in the air and letting it hit Andy's nose on the way down. Andy immediately starts up a beatbox, setting his half-eaten cupcake down, and Michael points at Ryan, grinning. "You first, honey."

Ryan's too high to think twice about it. "Uh hi my name is Ryan/ Florida's the best and I ain't lyin'/ That girl who just walked by the window had a really huge rack/ I don't know why I said that so please don't give me flack."

Michael makes an affronted noise and sits bolt upright. "Oh shit buddy did you just objectify the female sex/ Imma cut your arms off so you're like a t-rex/ I'm a raging feminist so back off her case/ I bet you haven't even gotten past first base."

Andy dissolves into a fit of laughter, and Ryan giggles, taking over the beatbox. "Greetings I'm Andy and I like weed/ Uh weed is good/ Weed is awesome/ Chill out yo."

Michael starts beatboxing next, and Ryan throws up a West Coast sign. "I'm an accountant major of the finest degree/ I'm really intelligent, y'all just can't see/ Michael, my Gators could trump your Tigers sixty to one/ My turn's over and I'm done PEACE."

Michael giggles for a straight thirty seconds, then picks it back up, eyes watering. "Fuck you, assbutt, your Gators suck/ My Tigers could pound those reptiles right into the muck/ Blood and guts would flow and stain the earth red/ Oh shit this is really violent take it away Andy." Andy finishes with a beatbox solo and they all dissolve into hoots of laughter, and some of the drink spurts out of Ryan's nose, and it's just so fucking stupid, but awesome too, and Ryan's head is spinning, but he takes another drag and just lets himself go. 

 

 

 

"Oh god." Ryan mutters to himself as he crosses campus Monday, hitting the side of his head like that'll somehow improve the pounding. 

It's the last day of classes before Thanksgiving break. Ryan's already called his mother and stated firmly that he's staying in Michigan, because a: he needs to appear virtuous and responsible, to borrow Michael's terms, and b: he doesn't exactly feel like facing anyone other than his immediate family for the time being. His mother tried to convince him otherwise, but he can hear the sadness in her voice, and eventually she lets it go. 

Ryan somehow makes it through the day, getting back his tests and work and finding that his scores are a little higher than usual. Cullen meets up with him to grab dinner at Chipotle, but he has to get back to New York to see his own family soon afterward, and by Wednesday, the entire campus is basically empty. 

Well, except for one person. Ryan wakes up Wednesday to his phone ringing. He checks the clock, sees that it's six, and groans. 

"What. Are you doing."

"Are you in Florida, asshole?" Michael says, instead of a normal hello how are you. 

Ryan sighs. "Nope. Oh, shit, maybe I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, you shouldn't have, because don't think you're getting off the goddamn community service just 'cause it's break."

"You're still here?"

"Yes, dipshit, do you think I have a fucking family to do Thanksgiving with?" Michael says matter-of-factly. Ryan winces. 

"Sorry. Anyway, when do you wanna get this done?"

"Eh, we can wait until the weekend. K, bye."

"Wait! Wait wait wait, no." 

Ryan doesn't exactly know why he's telling Michael not to hang up on him, but he feels like it has something to do with the sound of his voice. That, or maybe Ryan's just more of a loser than he thought he was.

"What?"

"Look, uh." Ryan gets up and crosses to his window, looking out at the empty green. "Do you. Um."

"What the fuck is it, get it out."

"Do you wanna get dinner with me on Friday because Thanksgiving's tomorrow and I feel like a loser just sitting in my dorm and studying and then I just thought like oh maybe I'll go take Michael to dinner so would that be okay like that would be okay with me." Ryan word-barfs before he can even think about how he's going to phrase this, wincing. 

Michael is dead silent for a sold minute, and Ryan's afraid he's going to hang up. But then he finally answers. "First off, that is one of the creepiest fucking sentences that I have ever heard, because you imply that you just, like, sit around in your room and think about taking me to dinner. Secondly, you take care of the loser part just by being alive. Thirdly, yes, I would love to go to dinner, as long as we split the fucking check. 'Kay?"

Ryan feels like doing a happy dance and pumping his fist, but he quickly stops himself, because he doesn't even know why he wants to do that and why his stupid heart is suddenly pounding. "Uh. Yeah. Sounds good."

"Ooh, I have a hot fucking dinner date now." Michael cackles, static fuzzing. "I'm gonna have to tell Andy and- " The line buzzes and crackles. "DAMN YOU, CHEAP FUCKING RATCHET PHONE!"

"Is this Ben's house line?"

"Yeah, he got it approximately one hour ago. Okay, I have to go because he's fallen and can't get up, see you in thirty-six hours, asshole."

The line clicks and Ryan's ears are filled with the sound of Michael's silence that doesn't quite go away the entire day.

 

 

 

Thanksgiving passes without fanfare. Ryan stays in the entire day, studying things he doesn't exactly need to and having a turkey Hot Pocket in order to attempt festivity. 

On Friday, Ryan wakes up at two in the afternoon and actually opens his curtains to let the harsh winter sun in, flinching. He's really become a creature of darkness and keyboards ever since his stupid goddamn fucking DUI.

"Call? No, he's gonna think you're creepy." Ryan mutters to himself as he pulls on a t-shirt with a print of Kenny from South Park on it over his jeans. 

It suddenly hits Ryan that he's treating this like a fucking _date_.

"NOPE." Ryan says firmly, running to his stereo and flipping to whatever station has reception just to get that thought out of his head. Some weird seventies disco song is playing, but anything's better than letting his brain run amok and come up with thoughts like that. 

At six, he checks over his call history and saves Michael's home number to his contacts. At precisely that moment, his phone rings with the ID.

"Hey." Ryan says, blushing when his voice cracks. He can hear Michael's laugh at the other end.

"Hey, loser. Meet me on the green- "

"In ten, or your ass is abandoned." Ryan finishes, grinning. "Beat ya to it."

"You're an asshole, that was my line." Michael sighs. "In ten."

Ryan's still grinning stupidly as he clatters down the stairs, tripping over the bottom step. He forces it off his face when he steps out onto the empty green, leaning under their usual huge, bare tree and flipping through dumb Cheezburger memes on his phone as he waits.

"Hey! You!"

Ryan looks up, and the smile returns to his face against his will. 

Michael is striding toward him at his normal impatient-looking clip, but something about him looks a little different. Ryan can't place what it is. Maybe his eyes are just going. 

"You." Ryan replies, sweeping his eyes pointedly over Michael's outfit, which is nicer than usual. Black (naturally) toggle-button coat over his black (of course) jeans, with his black (obviously) boots. "You look nice."

Michael's lined eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles. "I was going for fucking aggressive, you killed my vibe." He raises an eyebrow as a breeze pulls Ryan's open jacket to the side. "Really. Kenny. You could have at least gotten Butters."

"You watch South Park?" 

"Dude. Of course I watch fucking South Park."

"Oh god. No, you don't understand, there was literally no one at my old school who watched that, so I just gave up on humanity for a while." Ryan shakes his head. "I had no fanbrothers."

Michael makes a face. "Well, I'm not volunteering to be your fucking fanbrother, but I love that show. Now hurry up, loser, we're gonna get frostbite and starve."

"Okay."

They take the bus down to where the ramen restaurant was, and on the way, it starts to snow. Michael curses under his breath. "Fucking hell." Ryan just laughs. 

"Hey, wait one goddamn minute here, do you know where you're going?" Michael says when Ryan gestures for them to get off. Ryan smirks. 

"Yeah, I ain't telling you."

Michael rolls his eyes but his teeth start chattering, so the effect is sort of lost. He jogs up to Ryan the moment they get down the steps and slips his arm in the crook of Ryan's elbow. "Fuck. Serve me, personal heater." 

Ryan snorts, but inside, he feels like he's going to die at the way Michael just walks up to him and does this shit. The crook of his elbow tingles, and he can't help but scrutinize everyone he sees walking past them, knowing that they see a pair of guys who look very, very gay. 

Oh well. 

"Oh, and you know what I heard?" Ryan shivers, and he presses a little closer. 

"Speak."

"Yeah Yeah Yeahs are in Times Square for 2014."

Michael stops dead in his tracks, mouth falling open. "Fuck no."

"Fuck yes."

"Shit no."

"Shit yes. Just saw the listings, I kid you not."

"Oh my god, you know what, you have just injected my heart with fucking rainbow extract, because I am GOING TO TIMES SQUARE FOR NEW YEAR'S, FUCKERRR!" Michael says triumphantly, doing some sort of awful dance with his arm still linked in Ryan's.

"What?! No. You're such a liar, this is such a lie- "

"True fact, asshole. Andy took me last year, he has this little apartment in SoHo, and we're going this year too, fuck yeah fuck yeah fuck yeaaaah." Michael's still rocking out to whatever beat is in his head. "You're so jealous, I can see it in your face."

Ryan rolls his eyes, but really, he kind of is. "Shut up. I'll just watch it on NBC and probably have a better view of them than you ever will."

"Fuck you." Michael sticks his tongue out, and an stray snowflake lands on the tip of it. "Ewww." 

Ryan laughs, looking up to check that they're still on the right street. It's one of the oldest Ann Arbor ones, with cobblestone streets and everything. White Christmas lights and wreaths hang off every lamppost and tree, like everybody just ditched Thanksgiving the second it was over. The lights cast a pretty, festive-y glow over the street. "Okay, turn this corner."

He and Michael stop in front of Bellucci's Italian Bistro, all lit up and warm-looking, and Michael squeals. "Ahhh! So damn pretty!" 

Ryan snorts and drags them forward, the revolving door ringing with little silver bells attached to it. The maître d seats them at a little table by the front of the restaurant, looking out onto the street. 

"Oh god, I haven't been somewhere this sophisticated in, like, nineteen years." Michael informs him as they head over to the table. The maître d appears behind Michael and helps him with his coat, saying that he looks lovely, and Michael grins helplessly at Ryan. Ryan flushes and looks away, because yes, he does indeed look lovely.

Michael's long-sleeved v-neck is a soft, cloudy grey with a photo of a fried egg on the front. Ryan snickers, pointing at Michael. His eyes narrow. "What's your problem, doucheface?"

"You're wearing grey." 

Michael rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I ran out of black, and it's really fucking comfy, so screw you, South Park."

"This so reminds me of that scene from The Social Network, when Andrew Garfield is just, like, screaming at Jesse Eisenberg about his taste in clothes." 

"Right? AND FUCK YOU FLIP-FLOPS."

Ryan laughs, picking up his menu and glancing over it. "Before I die, I wanna see you wear white. Even, like, white socks. Just wear it."

Michael makes a face, taking a sip of his water. "That's never gonna fucking happen, but I'll let you dream."

A waitress comes over and asks if she can take their order. Michael gets some sort of spaghetti carbonara and Ryan goes with a seafood pasta thing that he can't quite pronounce. 

"Hey." Michael says quietly when the waitress walks away. "My, um. The trial's on December twelfth."

A lump finds its way into Ryan's throat and settles in. "Oh. Oh man."

"I… " Michael bites his lip. "I was, like… I was wondering if you could just, you know, wait. Outside. The courthouse for me, because I'll probably be a devastated wreck even if I win and I'm going to need someone's shirt to ruin and I'm sure as hell not throwing mine into the mix. I mean, it's gonna take a while, but I was just, like, oh god never mind just forget I even asked." 

Ryan shakes his head, a little surprised. "Michael, no, of course I'll wait. You don't even have to frickin' ask, you know, I'd probably just do it anyway."

Michael removes his palm from his face. "Wait, are you fucking kidding me? You're serious right now."

Ryan nods. "If you asked me to fucking represent you in the trial, I'd probably do it, even though you'd lose and die a horrible death."

Michael seems to be in a state of shock, but he recovers and laughs. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"I… " Ryan shrugs. "I guess I said I'd help you out, right?"

Michael just looks at him for a while, skin glowing from the candle in the center of the table, and Ryan has to break his gaze, because he knows he's blushing and it's just easier if they're not looking at each other. "Yeah." Michael says finally, smiling. "Okay."

Their food comes and they have dinner over the YYY's, South Park, Spanish (even though Michael's a level higher,) Michael's theory that Señor Salzano is actually a raging dandrophiliac, and anything but the damn trial, which Ryan is more than okay with avoiding. 

Ryan ends up paying for more like three-quarters of the bill after a long financial battle with Michael, which Michael ends up surrendering with the understanding that he's going to buy them baked Alaskas from the hipster confectionary down the street. They step out into the street, now fully illuminated by the Christmas lights, and the snow is still falling softly down. 

Michael doesn't say he's cold, but he takes Ryan's arm anyway.

Coming back on the bus, they munch on their baked Alaskas, which have to be the best food since Chili Cheetos. "Hey, come to the dorm when we get back." Ryan tells him, and Michael nods, fanning at his mouth. "Hot. Hot. Fuckity, hot."

"What, are we gonna make hot toddies and sit by the fire and wrap ourselves in quilts?" Michael says as they get off at their stop, grin white in the darkness. 

Ryan raises an eyebrow. "What the hell is a hot toddy?" Their feet crunch in the newly fallen snow.

Michael's mouth falls open. "You've never had a fucking hot toddy."

"Nope. Should I be, like, hung from the gallows or something?"

"Uh, yeah, you should. I'll make you one when we get inside."

Ryan decides that they should probably use the commons kitchens, because his has been kind of dead since the cupcake festival, so he runs off with orders to find sugar, cinnamon, cloves, and rum. Miraculously, he finds everything in the spice rack, and Michael takes them into the kitchen, which is attached to the common room. 

"Start a damn fire, it's basically Christmas." Michael calls, and Ryan laughs. Even though it's not even December yet, it does feel like Christmas. That distinct smell is starting to seep into the air. 

Ryan just flicks a lit match onto the logs in the huge stone fireplace, which looks like it hasn't been used in years, and just like that, it bursts into flames. He yelps and leaps back, but the flames calm down and it becomes pleasantly warm. 

Michael emerges from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of something, and hands one to Ryan as he curls up on the couch. Ryan flops onto the huge armchair, taking a sip. 

It tastes fucking awesome, like spicy cinnamon and a hint of cloves and a slight edge of rum and just everything mixed together screams HAPPY HOLIDAYS. "Shit." Ryan takes a huge gulp, and Michael laughs.

"I know, right? My mom used to make these for my dad all the damn time, she taught me how."

"Ahhh." Just like Andy's lemony drink thing, Ryan feels his brain start to loosen from its hinges. Michael sips his, making a satisfied noise. "So, Michael, what time do you require my much-lauded presence at the courthouse?"

Michael looks at him, eyes slightly hazy. "Well, it's on a fucking Thursday 'cause that was the only time, and I think it's for a couple hours or whatever. I'll tell you when I find out more."

Ryan nods. "You're gonna win, okay? You're gonna win, you have to, if the judge rules against you then they're a shitty piece of shit."

"Yeah, I kinda have to, or I'm stuck being his fucking property for the rest of my life. It's like a one-chance deal." Michael says, cupping his hands around his mug. 

"You're gonna win." Ryan breathes out loudly and starts swinging his legs, draining the rest of the hot toddy. He glances lazily over to see Michael setting his down as he stretches out. Ryan giggles. "Oh, man, that was good. Dude."

Michael smiles. "Fuck yeah. I told you I had mad skills. Now, I should- "

"Nooo." Ryan whines. "Don't go."

Michael raises a skeptical eyebrow, but the hot toddy is clearly affecting him too, because the smile is still on his face. It's wider than it normally would be. "Excuse me?"

Ryan makes a groovy motion. "But baby, it's cold outsiiiide." He sings, and Michael laughs.

"I've got to go awaaay… " Michael sings back, copying Ryan's seated dancing.

"Oh darling, it's cold outside."

"This evening has been… "

"Was hoping that you'd drop in… "

"So very nice." 

Ryan stands up, swaying slightly, and holds his hand out to Michael. Michael takes it, letting Ryan pull him off the couch. "I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice."

Michael laughs, tipping his head back. His fingers curl with Ryan's. "My mother will start to worry… "

Ryan slips his arm around Michael's waist, pulling him closer. "Beautiful, what's your hurry?"

"My father will be pacing the floor." Michael winds one arm around Ryan's neck, spinning them around to the imaginary beat.

"Listen to that fireplace roar." 

"So really, I'd better scurry… "

Ryan dips Michael back. "Oh, beautiful, please don't hurryyyy… "

Michael giggles. "Well, maybe just a half a drink more… "

"Why don't you put some music on while I pour?"

Ryan stops dead in his tracks, suddenly the opposite of tipsy and aware of what the hell they're doing, and aware of the fact that he's kind of turned on right now, and aware of the fact that Michael's lips are basically an inch away from his. 

"I." He says, breathing hard.

Michael stares at him, wide-eyed, Ryan's arm still wrapped around his waist and their hands still tangled together.

Then he leans in and kisses him. 

Ryan hesitates for a split second, trying to think of all the horrible ways this could end, but he can't really come up with any.

So he kisses back, eyelids sliding shut and holding Michael closer. Michael makes a small sound and opens his mouth, letting Ryan explore it with his tongue. 

Ryan's head is spinning as they stumble backward, his butt landing in the big armchair. Michael straddles his lap in the chair, hands coasting up his neck and running through his hair.

He pulls away to gasp in a breath and gapes at Michael, panting. "I thought… you… I thought… "

Michael rolls his eyes and starts kissing him again, hips shifting forward. Ryan makes a slightly embarrassing noise. "Never said I couldn't try anything, dipshit, now shut up."

So Ryan does, letting his hands rest on Michael's hips. "Upstairs." Michael murmurs against his lips, and Ryan nods. He grabs Michael's hand and tugs him down the hall to the dorms, mouths glued together. 

They reach Ryan's barely lit room and Ryan closes his eyes, thinking of where this could go, but he doesn't have much time to contemplate the matter because Michael pushes him back on the pillows, climbing on top and straddling him again. 

They make out for god knows how long, until Ryan is pretty sure Michael can feel how hard he's getting, and when Michael pushes his hips down, Ryan groans against his mouth. Michael pulls at the hem of his shirt and Ryan sits up enough to strip it off and throw it in a corner. 

His fingers wander to Michael's shirt and he pulls it over Michael's head, tossing it in the same direction, and just stares at all the exposed skin, running his hands over Michael's sides. "Jesus fucking Christ." He mutters, and Michael laughs softly. 

Taking a bit of a chance, Ryan leans in and starts kissing at his neck, hands anchored on Michael's waist. Michael moans, the sound echoing in Ryan's ears, and grinds his hips down. Ryan sucks his collarbone as his fingers fumble with Michael's zipper, until Michael shoves his pants down and suddenly he's naked, and Ryan seriously is having trouble with all the fucking _skin_. 

Michael reaches down and tugs at Ryan's waistband, but Ryan does it himself, keeping one hand planted on Michael's hip. "Are you sure?" He asks quietly, and Michael nods, shifting closer to nip at his ear. Ryan reaches quickly down under the mattress and pulls out a condom from the box underneath. 

"Just fuck me, I don't have fucking crabs or anything." Michael murmurs, and pushes Ryan back down on the bed. Before Ryan knows it, Michael takes one of his hands and sucks on his fingers in a way that is so incredibly hot that Ryan can't even stand it, and he doesn't even know what he's doing. 

He reaches around and lets his middle finger press slowly into Michael. Michael makes a soft sound, hands pressed against his chest. Ryan bites his lip, slipping another finger inside and crooking them like he feels like he's supposed to. 

Michael lets out a soft moan and pushes back against his hand. "Shit." Ryan mutters, crooking his fingers again, and Michael moans louder this time. He spreads them apart slightly and hears Michael's gasp, feels his nails dig into his chest.

"Okay. Okay." Michael pants, reaching back and grabbing Ryan's hand. Ryan lets one rest on his hip and one on his waist as Michael shifts forward. Michael grabs the condom and slides it onto him, and Ryan's breath hitches, because this is like the last and final step before they literally, actually, truly have sex.

 _Fuck,_ Ryan thinks numbly, _I'm so not fucking ready for this, oh, fuck,_ and then Michael sinks down on him, slowly taking him in. Ryan tries to control his heartbeat and just lets himself feel everything as he enters Michael. When he's all the way in, Ryan moans, trying not to thrust up too fast and, like, kill Michael, but it's so hard because Michael's really tight and it's the fucking heat that's going to make him just die. 

When he thrusts up, carefully bracing his hand on Michael's hip, Michael gasps, but it turns into a breathy moan as Ryan slides back out. "Faster, asshole." Michael mutters, and Ryan slams up into him to shut him up because this is so not the time to be calling him an asshole, and Michael moans, leaning sharply forward. 

Ryan finds some kind of rhythm and just starts thrusting into Michael, and he's, like, ready to just die right now, but Michael's gasping and moaning and everything is just blurring together. Ryan pulls him down and kisses him, moving down his jaw and sucking softly at his throat, and Michael slaps his palm on Ryan's chest, starting to move his hips down into Ryan's thrusts. 

He starts to feel that pressure build and Ryan bites down on Michael's neck, moaning as he comes. Michael curses and calls him an asshole again, but a minute later he's crying out and shuddering around Ryan, and it's like Ryan's fucking pelvis is on overdrive or something because he keeps slamming his hips up until Michael's come, and then Michael just pants, moving quickly off him and falling down next to Ryan on the sheets.

"Holy. Shit. Holy. Shit." Ryan repeats, breathing hard, and Michael just slaps at his chest, still shuddering. 

"You. Suck. At this." 

"You came, idiot, I've got mad skills." Is all Ryan can come up with, gasping. Statements like that post-orgasm should be fucking illegal. 

"I was kidding, dipshit, you fucked me good." Michael just pants for a while, turning onto his stomach and burying his face in the pillow next to Ryan. "Oh god, it's been, like, a whole goddamn year."

"Serious?" Ryan opens his eyes, turning on his side to face Michael. 

"Yeah. I mean, the last time my dad's friends came over, which was a year ago, I just couldn't fucking do it anymore and I just like…" Michael makes a vague gesture. "I just, I ran away. I guess you could put it in romantic terms." 

"Oh." Ryan bites his lip. "Did you stay with Shane and stuff?"

"Yeah, but for the first, like, month, I couldn't find him, so I just kind of chilled on the streets. But I made sure I was still going to school because I wasn't a fucking idiot." Michael shrugs. "Then I found Ben and Andy, and those two and Shane just like…" Michael rolls over onto his back, legs thrown to one side of his body. They brush Ryan's on top of the sheets. "They're really fucking amazing people, when you look at it."

"They are." Ryan says, looking up at the ceiling. 

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do now. He doesn't know what they are now, after what just happened. He doesn't know what Michael expects him to do, if he's expected to do anything. 

So he decides to just let Michael take the reins and watch where it goes from there.

A small noise comes from his side, and Ryan looks over to see Michael brushing his hand over his eyes, and that just kind of knocks his head off his shoulders. "Hey, whoa, what's wrong?" Ryan says hurriedly, turning onto his side again. Michael just shakes his head and keeps his forearm thrown over his face. "Is this… is this about what we just did?"

"No, god, no, I would never cry about that because that was fucking great." Michael wipes at his eyes again. "I mean, it was great, which is like, why I'm fucking crying. So I guess it is."

Ryan bites his lip, propping himself up on one elbow. "Did I do something?" He asks quietly, and Michael shakes his head again.

"No, no, no, don't worry about yourself, dipshit."

"Then what's up?"

"They just… " Michael's breath shudders a little. "I mean, they just make you feel like a fucking object, you know? Like you're a goddamn inanimate object and they can do whatever the hell they want with you."

Ryan looks down. "You're not- "

"Look, I know I'm not, okay, but just when they're actually fucking doing it, it's like… " He rubs at his eyes. "I mean, Ryan, I have this fucking memory of that American Lit teacher and he was just saying 'slut' over and over again in my ear and I just felt like fucking dying right then." He makes an angry, painful noise, slapping at the sheets. "See, that's what I fucking _loathe_ about those rapists and men like that, like, can you not control yourself? Is it too hard to have a little goddamn self-restraint?"

Michael turns onto his side and looks at him.

"But then you come along and you just… " Michael laughs shakily. "I have no idea what you do, but it's like I'm fucking alive again, and like, oh god dammit this is Oprah Winfrey signing off goodbye now I'm going to sleep and I'm going to stop whining and leave you alone."

Ryan can't keep the grin from spreading over his face, choosing to ignore what the first half of the sentence did to his heartbeat. "I don't think so."

"I think so, assbutt." Michael eyes him, seemingly recovered now. "I'm tired, and my goddamn emotions are kind of repeatedly exploding at the top of my lungs, so shut the fuck up and let me sleep. I'll complain more in the morning if you really want me to."

Ryan laughs then, flopping down next to Michael on the pillow. "Christ, okay." He points at Michael. "But this isn't over."

Michael just flips him off as he stands up, pulling the blankets back. "God, Ryan, get a fucking heating system in here." He gripes, flopping down and tugging the comforter around himself. Ryan rolls his eyes, reaching over to flick the lights off. 

Ryan tosses and turns for a few minutes, occasionally bumping into Michael and earning a "fuck off, pervert." But he's not going to get any sleep for the rest of 2013 until he asks what he needs to.

"Hey. Michael." He whispers in the dark. Michael groans and turns so he's facing Ryan.

"What?"

"You're… " Ryan closes his eyes. "Are you gonna, like, get weird after this?" His cheeks heat up, even though he can't see Michael's face. "I mean, like, I don't want you to get all awkward and stuff, because. I." Ryan's pretty sure Michael can see his red face in the dark. "I kind of just like hanging out with you, you know. Like, if I could just hang out with you for… a really long time, I would." Michael doesn't answer for a few seconds. "Sorry, that last sentence was so awful, just disregard it." Ryan squeaks. 

He hears Michael's sigh, and then, taking him completely by surprise, Michael grabs his arm and wraps it around his shoulders, using it as a sort of pillow. Ryan's breath hitches a little. "Of course I'm not going to get weird, I'm too cool for that." Michael says, shifting onto his side and letting his head drop onto Ryan's chest. Ryan's pretty sure he's going to explode into a burst of rainbows when Michael throws his leg over his hips. "Now go to sleep, asshole."

Smiling to himself in the darkness, Ryan obeys.

 

 

 

The light the next morning is too harsh and too much all at once, and Ryan groans as his eyes peel themselves open, trying to turn onto his side and escape the morning.

But his body is prevented by doing so because the weight of another body is currently pinning it down, and Ryan glances down to see Michael curled up on his chest, still asleep.

"Oh. Shit." Ryan mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Oh. Shit."

His head is buzzing pleasantly, so the hot toddy must have been a factor in the previous night. Ryan extracts himself from underneath Michael as gently as possible, tiptoeing to the bathroom.

He looks like a wreck, his hair tangled and bedhead-y and a small hickey on his earlobe. Ryan splashes water on his face and finds a pair of boxers, pulling them on and going back to his room. 

"Hnnngh." Michael is starting to wake up, stirring and sitting up in Ryan's bed. His hair looks like a whirlwind just blew through it, his eyeliner is slightly smudgy (but Ryan thinks it has magical staying power or something) and one side of his neck is covered in hickies. "Ughh." He looks blearily at Ryan. "Time?"

Ryan looks at the clock. "Twelve."

"Shitty shit." Michael mutters, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rushing, naked, over to Ryan's closet, in front of which his clothes are in a pile. Ryan gulps and looks away as he pulls them on, hunting around for his boots. "Okay, dipshit, let's get going."

"What, why… " Ryan starts, then he groans and facepalms. "Oh god, the animals, oh god. Okay. I'm going." 

Once they're dressed and Michael has borrowed (rather forcefully) his toothbrush, Michael herds him out the door, pulling Ryan's bike along behind him from the closet. Ryan checks his phone and sees that they were supposed to be there at eleven. "Oh. Fuck." Ryan mutters, grabbing the bike.

"What? What the hell are you doing?!" Michael demands as Ryan throws his leg over his bike and motions for Michael to get on the back. "There's something called a bus- "

"No time. We're taking the aluminum stallion."

"Oh, hell." Michael mutters, slipping on behind Ryan. Ryan starts pedaling down the hallway toward the main exits, turning sharply. "Oh gOD DON'T FUCKING KILL US- " Ryan takes a screeching right and sees the sliding doors ahead, making a beeline toward them. Michael starts shrieking when they don't open immediately, but at the last second, they slide and Ryan zooms through, Michael's nails digging into his sides.

Once they're on the road, Michael slaps at his shoulder. "Don't you even fucking think about attempting some dramatic exit like that ever again, you butt."

Ryan laughs as they cross down the main street, headed for Ypsi, and this time he's more than aware of Michael's arms squeezed around his waist. It's a nice feeling, actually, it's kind of an awesome feeling, but Ryan wishes he was on something cooler like an actual Harley and not his old Trek. 

They pull up at the ASPCA and hop off, Ryan locking his bike on a bus stop sign. The same bored-looking dude is there, and he just has them do the same stuff. Michael likens Ypsilanti to the Arctic Circle as they walk the dogs. One new one, a giant Newfoundland mutt, has taken a special liking to him and keeps trying to lick his face.

"Ryan, he's assaulting me." Michael bats at the huge dog and Ryan laughs as it just jumps back up, nearly knocking Michael to the ground. "DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

But somehow, they finish with the dogs and grab snacks at the little deli, and when they come back, Bored Dude is gone again. Michael goes over to the cat cages and lets them out, squealing when he sees that the black kitten is still there. "Hi babyyy!" Michael coos, picking it up. It mewls and sticks onto his shoulder, tail curling. "Aww, you missed me, yes you did."

Ryan makes a dismissive noise and goes back to petting his fat grey cat, which has settled onto his feet again. The tabby, however, has defected to Michael's camp and is busy rubbing against his shins and purring. 

The giant Newfoundland presses up against the bars of its cage and pants, looking up at Michael with absolute infatuation. Michael glares at it until it whimpers, and Ryan goes and starts scratching behind its ears. 

"What's up with you and dogs?"

"It's not dogs, it's just this one's a pervert."

Ryan snickers and unlatches the cage, opening the door, and Michael says "NO-" but it's too late, because the Newfoundland makes a beeline for his crotch and pushes his nose between Michael's legs. "SEXUAL PREDATOR!" Michael screeches, backing up, but the dog just barks happily and follows him. The kitten yowls and scrambles to Michael's other shoulder, and the tabby cat just hisses and bats at the dog's leg, and Ryan has to sit down to control himself. 

"Ryan, when this thing gets the fuck away from me I'm going to KILL YOU!" Michael shrieks as the dog plants both paws on his shoulders and starts making out with his face. "FUCK YOU, FIDO!"

Ryan laughs, and something in the corner catches his eye. There's a tiny cage with a hamster in it, the two-inch Roborovski kind, which is kind of sad because who actually gives their poor hamster to the ASPCA. Ryan walks over and picks it up, and unlike most hamsters, it doesn't bite his fingers in half, just sits in his hand and starts grooming itself. It's ridiculously cute, and Ryan carries it toward Michael, who has managed to shoo the Newfoundland away. The kitten is still stuck to his shoulder. 

"Hey, Michael, look at this adorable little shit." Ryan says, and Michael takes one look and screams. "Oh my god! What's wrong with you?"

"I fucking hate hamsters, oh my god, I have had such horrible experiences with hamsters, don't you dare fucking get that thing any closer Ryan fucking LochTE OH GOD DON'T PUT IT DOWN- " Ryan grins as he puts it on the floor, nudging it toward Michael. It starts scurrying in his direction, and Michael yells, clutching at the giant Newfoundland and shoving it in front of him. The hamster dodges through its legs and latches onto Michael's pants, crawling up onto his thigh and kind of just sitting there, and Michael's mouth just hangs open in a silent scream, pointing at it, then at Ryan.

"Take it. The fuck. Off of me." Michael rasps, looking like he's about to hyperventilate, and Ryan takes it pity on him and picks it up, putting it back in his cage. When he looks back, Michael is breathing hard, the Newfoundland starting to lick at his neck again and wagging his tail.

Ryan just laughs, breath wheezing out of him, but apparently Michael's leg has new flexible properties, because the heel of his boot is suddenly digging into Ryan calf and Ryan just sinks to the ground, still laughing.

 

 

 

"You're a fucking sadist." Michael tells him as they leave, hopping onto the back of Ryan's bike. Ryan chuckles, turning under the empty freeway and narrowly dodging a falling chunk of hard snow. "Take a right here, I need a drink."

"It's like, six." Ryan says, but he takes the turn anyway. Michael tells him to stop in front of a dingy little bar and they go in. He orders two beers and brings them back to the table, eyeing Ryan suspiciously. 

"Damn you, Lochte, I don't even know if I can drink this entire shitty bottle." Michael says, sitting down next to him. "Also, that guy by the poker table?" Ryan looks up casually and sees a scummy-looking dude with a gross ponytail leaning over the pot in the center and laughing loudly. He scoops the money toward himself. "He's a lech, don't look at him too long, oh shit I just told you not to look at him too long, you fucktard, just follow my lead."

The guy gets up and starts heading in Michael's direction, smiling. "You didn't tell me this was a _gay_ bar." Ryan hisses. Michael just kicks him under the table. 

"Hey, boys." The guy runs his fingers through his ponytail like that's supposed to make him more attractive. "Any chance I could buy you a drink?"

Michael just glares up at him for a while, so Ryan follows suit, hoping that his is just as intense (which obviously it's not because Michael is the reigning monarch of glaring.) Then he opens his mouth.

"Listen, asshole. I'm going to give you a little fucking lesson in the laws of paid sex." Michael stands up, poking the guy in his flabby chest. He steps back a little. "Boys with asses like ours… " He gestures to Ryan and himself. "Don't get fucked by guys with faces like yours." 

Ryan's barely able to hold it in as Michael drains the last of his beer and grabs his hand, leading them out of the bar and away from the dude. "Way to quote She's The Man." Ryan says, Michael accepting his high-five graciously. 

"You know, I worshipped Monique as a kid. I just thought she was so fucking sassy, I had to be like her."

Ryan's still laughing as they bike down under the freeway, headed back to Michigan. The students are starting to trickle back in from out-of state, and some look at them a little oddly, but don't say anything. 

He brakes in front of Michael's house. "Okay, so the official hour count is twenty-two." He says as Michael slips off.

"You sure you can spend twenty-eight more with me?" Michael says, grinning up at him. 

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Probably not."

They just look at each other for a second, Michael's eyes locked with his, and it's like that somehow makes Ryan word-barf for the hundredth time since he's met Michael. 

"I. Um, Iook, you're like, really hot and shit and I kind of want to kiss you right now but that technically counts as trying something and- "

"Just shut up and kiss me, asshole." Michael interrupts, then he plants both hands on Ryan's cheeks and pulls him down, lips meeting in the middle. Ryan tries to stay balanced, teetering, but it's barely possible with Michael doing things like he is with his tongue. 

Eventually, Michael lets go of him and smirks, turning away. "Later, fucker."

Even long after Michael's door has clicked closed, Ryan has to sit outside, still wobbling on his bike and trying to remember what his name is, before he can even begin to recognize the steady throbbing of his heartbeat.

 

 

 

On Sunday, Bill comes back and since Ryan doesn't really want to spend that much time around him, he heads to Michael's house. The ASPCA is expecting them again. 

Michael opens the door and grunts, still looking half-asleep. "No."

"Yes." Ryan counters, tapping his foot. "I feel like we're behind schedule."

Michael whines and threatens him, but once again, by twelve they're on the bus to Ypsi. A different dude is at the desk this time, and the perverted Newfoundland is gone. But Michael's kitten (he refers to it possessively now) is still there. 

"How come no one wants you, huh?" Michael pouts, rubbing over its ears. "You're so cuuuuute."

When they've got the dogs on leashes, Michael steps outside and curses. "Fuck." He rushes back inside and comes out wearing Ryan's scarf and gloves. "I'm confiscating these until we get some fucking warmth up in this state."

Ryan just sighs and buries his hands in his pockets. "Whatevs."

"And the same black line that was drawn on you was drawn on meeeee… " Michael spins in the middle of the street. "And now it's drawing me iiiiinnnn… sixth avenue heartaaaaache… du du du du du du… "

"Okay." Ryan mutters, grabbing Michael's hand and pulling him onto the sidewalk.

He kisses Michael to get him to shut up, and Michael doesn't exactly protest, just makes a small sound and lets his arms wind around Ryan's neck. Michael's lips are soft and slightly cold, and his mouth tastes oddly like real strawberries, not the fake flavor kind, and Ryan just wants to stay there for a while and let his heart warm up again. 

"Are you just gonna fucking do this randomly?" Michael breathes, fingers in Ryan's hair. "Because I'd be okay with that."

"I think I'm gonna." Ryan says, and Michael pulls away, linking their arms. 

"Okay."

It's so completely random and sort of awful, but Ryan wonders how, and why, Michael's father could just let shit happen to him. Just completely disregard his humanity in the way that is usually reserved for dogs fighting rats in pits, but was somehow applied to a fourteen-year-old boy.

"Hey." Ryan says quietly.

"I'm not gonna talk about the direction our relationship is going to go and what we are now and what we'll be in a year and bullshit like that, if that's what you're asking." Michael warns him, and Ryan shakes his head.

"No, I was…" Ryan bites his lip. "Like, why the hell would your dad do that stuff to you? I mean, like…you know. That stuff." 

Michael cups his hands around his mouth and breathes warm air into them. "Well, I honestly have no fucking clue." He says matter-of-factly. "I think he blamed me for my mom leaving him and shit, and the only way for him to get back at me was to like, sell me for free." They turn the corner at the end of the block. "I mean, that just became a fucking way of life for me, I guess. If I needed something done, I'd just let whoever it was fuck me and they'd do it. Like, I get why prostitutes just get stuck in a rut like that and they can't find another job, but they just don't fucking _want_ another job because letting people fuck you is so easy."

Ryan's silent for a while, just thinking. 

"Michael, you weren't like, an actual prostitute ever. Right?"

Michael laughs, but there's something harsh underneath it. "What do you think?"

Ryan blinks. "Oh."

"I mean, I think I squeezed one-twenty out of a guy once. That was when I was really fucking _down_ there, though." Michael's not looking at him, though, so he clearly can't talk about this as casually as he does the other stuff. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Uh, except it is." Ryan says before he can stop himself, and he winces as Michael stops walking to stare at him. 

"Look, asshole, if you wanna try to fucking be alive the way I was, be my damn guest. Do you realize that it was Detroit in the middle of fucking winter, I was out on the street, and sometimes an asshole or two takes an interest in you when you're out on the same goddamn corner every goddamn day? Wanna get some, maybe they'll drop fifty if you suck them off, hundred if you're a virgin, hundred twenty if you're not but you're really fucking good. You wanna try living where they live and not sinking into that shithole of a world? Go ahead. Tell me about your goddamn experience after you've been raped in an alleyway and you're lying there bleeding and crying and you're looking up at the shitty stars and wondering if your fucking existence on this earth is worth it anymore."

Ryan's stunned into silence, and he can hear Michael breathing slightly hard. Michael looks away.

"Sorry. I fucking overreacted." Michael mutters, and Ryan shakes his head. 

"No, it's fine, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"I just…" Michael bites his lip and he steps closer. He rests both hands on Ryan's shoulders, looking sad. "I don't want you to fucking understand, okay? Just don't worry about me, you have so much going for you, and you don't need me to worry about. I'm okay now. Don't sweat it." 

Ryan looks at him. "It's impossible for me not to worry, I mean. I mean, Michael, you are such a goddamn _story_ , it's impossible for me not to care about what's happening to you. So you can't fucking expect that."

That sad expression that is currently killing Ryan doesn't leave Michael's face. "Okay, you can care, but I don't want you going out and hunting these guys down and shit. That's what Andy tried to do when I told him and he almost fucking got killed."

"I'm not going to do that, I'm just saying that…" Ryan takes a breath. "I'm just saying that I, you know, I care about you. Okay, this is really Dr. Phil but I do. I give a fuck."

Michael just stares into his face for a moment, then he gives Ryan a small smile. "Okay, dipshit, you can care. I don't mind." 

Then Michael just tugs Ryan closer and kisses him, and the leashes slip out of Ryan's hand and he lets it rest on Michael's waist, just to touch him because he can. 

Michael pulls away and picks up the leashes, handing them to Ryan. "Come on, we're almost done here."

 

 

 

"We're getting food at my house, my stomach is going to fucking cave in." Michael informs him when their bus pulls up at UMich. Twenty-seven hours down. Less than half to go. "I'm feeling Cup Noodle." Ryan says, hopping off the bus after him. 

"Yeah, but it's like, impossible to eat microwave ramen after you've had the real fucking McCoy." Michael makes a longing noise. "There's this place in NYC called Ippudo, dude, it's like you have unicorns in your mouth."

"But Cup Noodle is so amazingly salty."

"You're so wrong about that, I will cut you."

They bicker over real ramen vs. fake ramen (as Michael calls it) on the way to the house. Michael decides that he's won the battle as he pushes the door open, motioning for Ryan to follow him in.

When they reach the back of the house, Ben is slumped over on the kitchen table, making snoring sounds. Michael sighs. 

"Hold on, this always works. Watch." He raises his voice to an exact imitation of Chrissie's and walks up to Ben, stroking his hair. "Ben, baby, you need to wake up." Ben murmurs something, but keeps snoring. Michael leans down and licks the shell of his ear, lowering his voice. "You said you'd use those nipple clamps on me tonight."

Ben shoots up, eyes wide. "Whassat? Whassat?" He groans when he sees Michael, laughing his head off in the corner. Ryan bites his lip, trying to hold it in, and fails. "Michaaaael. I said not to do that anymore, it makes me think I'm a queer." He really does look forlorn, droopy eyes looking up at Michael. 

"Ahhh." Michael goes and sits in Ben's lap, slinging an arm around his neck. Ben makes a long-suffering noise. "Ben, did you meet Ryan?"

"No, but I feel like I've seen him before. Hi, Ryan." Ben says, smiling woozily up at him. "Are you Michael's boyfriend? He needs one."

"Er- " 

"No, we just had sex." Michael says, tweaking Ben's nose. Ben whines. "I'm feeling FWB, but something a little spicier." Ryan blushes bright red. "Now, I'm gonna have to ask you to go the fuck upstairs and be stoned there, because you have that job interview tomorrow and we need the kitchen."

Ben grumbles and whines some more, but Michael coaxes him upstairs and comes back down after snoring comes from one of the bedrooms. "Okay, ramen." He pulls out two plastic bowls of the stuff from a cupboard, and a miraculous two minutes later, Ryan's holding a steaming bowl of noodles.

When they're done plowing through it, Michael sets his bowl down and stares at Ryan. Ryan sets his bowl down and stares at Michael.

"Can we make out now- " Ryan starts, but Michael beats him to it, launching forward and smashing their lips together. Ryan's hands slide down his hips and Michael straddles him, but the chair is sort of uncomfortable, so Ryan stands, Michael's legs still wrapped around him. They stumble into the living room and onto the couch, Ryan flipping them around so he's on top and leaning down to kiss Michael again. Michael makes a soft noise and opens his mouth, and when he pulls back to gasp in a breath, he glances quickly at the clock and curses. "Oh, shit fuck."

"Wait." Michael mutters, and Ryan pulls away, staring down at him. "I…" He nips at Ryan's bottom lip. "Would love to continue this with less clothing. But I have to be at the University in five, so sucks for you."

"Ah." Ryan leans down and kisses him again, then sits up. Michael wiggles out from under him, giving Ryan a hand up. "Get going, then."

Michael basically rushes for the door, pointing back at Ryan. "This isn't over. Lock up and make sure Ben's not dead."

"Okay." Ryan doesn't exactly feel capable of those things at the moment, but he'll do his best. "Okay."

 

 

 

He doesn't see Michael again until class that Wednesday, and Michael definitely acts the same way he usually does. "Hey, buttface." Michael says cheerfully as he sets his stuff down on the desk next to Ryan. Ryan kicks his foot. 

"Hey."

Mr. Burns tells them that they should get out their notebooks, because this class, they'll be discussing young adult sexual health. While most everyone else titters and Trevor makes some dumb comment as he tries to hit on Tessa, Michael looks indifferent. He slaps his notebook down on the table and starts doodling an obese rabbit in the corner. 

They start up a mildly awkward discussion of teen sexual activity, but Ryan's been through so many of these classes that he doesn't even care anymore. Michael stays silent like he always is, but Mr. Burns looks encouragingly at him once in a while. 

Class ends and as Ryan shuffles through his books, he sees his Spanish workbook and groans, remembering the giant test on Friday that he hasn't studied for. Michael raises an eyebrow. 

Ryan remembers that Michael's a level higher than him in Spanish, and he looks up, using those puppy eyes he always knew could win his mother over. "No." Michael says, refusing to look at him. Ryan makes a whimpering noise, getting in his face. "Down, boy."

"Pleeease?" Ryan begs as Michael waltzes out, flipping his backpack over his shoulder. "I'll give you food. I'll schedule it conveniently. I'll listen to you."

Michael makes an irritated noise and stops walking. "Oh, fucking hell, fine. Friday. The library. Noon. Not a minute later, or I'm leaving."

Ryan make a squeaky noise and, making sure no one's really watching, leans in and kisses Michael's cheek. Michael bats him away, but he's smiling. "Yeah, now get out of here. And study."

"What? No, I'm walking with you."

All the way back to Michael's house, Ryan keeps trying to kiss him, and Michael keeps moving further and further away until he dissolves into a fit of laughter and Ryan just grabs him and kisses him. Michael's eyes slide closed and his fingers tangle in Ryan's hair, then he pulls away, about to laugh. 

"Okay, now don't fucking stalk me into my house, you pervert." Michael tells him, rolling his eyes when Ryan just leans on his gate, grinning lazily. "Okay. Okay. You walked me home, now, goodbye. Farewell. Scram. Begone."

Ryan just whistles Baby It's Cold Outside and Michael flips him off, then slams the door. But Ryan can hear his laughter from inside.

 

 

 

Ryan arrives at the library at 11:59, two paninis in his backpack stuffed next to all his Spanish junk. He strides confidently through the doors but halts when he sees Michael sitting next to the glass wall, midday winter light hitting his face at an angle that makes Ryan hide behind the nearest shelf and just watch him. Michael takes a sip of something that looks like Fanta going up the straw, flipping through a book. But when Ryan looks closer, he sees that it's a book on top of a book, so Michael must be highly embarrassed by whatever it is he's reading. 

It's kind of interesting to see how Michael functions when Ryan's not around, and Ryan feels almost like he's spying. But not as creepy as that.

Suddenly, a guy with round, gay-looking muscles walks by and sits right across from Michael. Ryan feels something like dread and… jealousy spread through the upper half of his chest. "Hey."

Michael glares up at him. "Yes?"

"What're you reading?"

Michael looks at the guy like he has serious problems, but he holds up the cover of his pretend-book. "The Devil In The White City." He says flatly, then looks back down. The coldness in Ryan's chest spreads further. 

"Good choice." The guy smiles. "You know, I've seen you sitting right here every Tuesday, but you're always by yourself."

"Yeah, well, you're a fucking stalker." Michael mutters under his breath, turning the page of his book.

"What?"

"Nothing."

 _Why is he suddenly being so polite,_ Ryan thinks furiously, getting ready to rush out and beat Gay Muscly Shitbag into a pulp, but then Gay Muscly Shitbag opens his mouth again. 

"Hey, I'm gonna head down to that little taco place a couple blocks down. You wanna- "

"No, asshole, I do not want to go on a fucking date with you." Michael hisses, slamming his book down on the table. "Now shut the hell up, leave me alone, and let me fucking study, how about that?"

Gay Muscly Shitbag just gets up and bolts, and Michael goes back to his book.

Ryan decides that now is a good time to make his knight-in-shining-armor entrance and he emerges from behind the shelf with a swaggering step, walking as casually up to Michael as he can, but he trips on his shoelace halfway through, so the effect is sort of killed. "Hey."

Michael looks up and blushes, which in itself is _oh my god did he just blush because I'm here_ , and he slams his real book that wasn't concealed by _The Devil In The White City_ shut, shoving it under the chair so the cover lands face-down. Ryan raises an eyebrow.

"What's up with that?" He says, sitting down and trying to look under the table, but Michael pins it down with the heel of his boot and grabs Ryan's face in his hands, forcing his head up. 

"It's _nothing_ , assbutt. But if you look I'll rip your fucking dick off and feed it to that kitten at the ASPCA." Michael threatens, kicking the book further under his chair.

"Okay. Okay. Let go of my face."

Michael releases his cheeks but keeps his eyes on Ryan as he turns to the giant stack of papers and notebooks next to him. "Alright, what do you need?"

Ryan opens his mouth and holds up his backpack, but Michael just rolls his eyes and shushes him with a finger against Ryan's lips. "Okay, everything, then."

For an hour, Michael basically just drills information into him. He's really, really impatient and clearly has no tolerance for those of lesser intelligence. Midway through, after Michael's finished yelling at him about his idiotic way of conjugating, Ryan pretends to wipe a tear off his cheek and makes a sniffling noise. "Michael, you're so mean and abusive, you're making me cry."

"Shut up or nut up, dipshit. I'm not going to let you fail this damn thing, that's for sure." Michael tells him. "Just listen and do what I tell you, got it?"

In the end, Ryan comes out about ten times smarter and ten times closer to dropping to the ground and falling asleep, but he knows he's not going to fail now. At least, he thinks he's not going to fail. 

Ryan makes Michael call him on the day of the test and frantically recites everything into the speaker, Michael grunting occasionally to signal that he's correct. He gets five grunts, which Ryan equates to five stars, and he wants to kiss Michael through the phone but the clock is working against him and he just blurts out a goodbye. 

 

 

 

Friday zooms by, and by the time Saturday rolls around, Ryan goes over their non-existent community service plan and tells himself that they have to get a move on. He calls Michael and tells him to meet in their usual spot, looking out at the snow steadily falling down. 

He gets to the green first, of course, and nobody's there. School has been canceled for some sort of faculty work day. 

But five minutes later, Ryan's just waiting and minding his own business, when there's a "Hey! You!' and a fluffy, packed ball of snow hits the side of his head, and he goes down with a yell. Ryan looks around furiously and sees Michael laughing his head off near the tree, clutching onto the trunk.

"Oh, buddy, you are so fucking on." Ryan mutters, grabbing a handful and packing it into a ball, and when Michael makes the mistake of turning slightly, the snowball smacks him on the ass. Michael's mouth falls open and he sprints toward Ryan, but Ryan's prepared, and he grabs Michael the minute he gets close and tackles him to the ground. 

They wrestle around and somehow Michael shoves snow down the back of Ryan's pants, and then he just collapses underneath Ryan, laughing and gasping for breath. Ryan squeaks and does some sort of tribal dance as he gets it out of his poor pants. "Whooo." Michael weakly pumps his fist, grinning up at him. 

Ryan drops onto his elbows and kisses Michael, just because his lips are red from the cold and just because he can, and they make out in the snowbank they're smashed up against, because no one's around and what else are they supposed to do in that position. 

Michael eventually bats at his arm and wiggles away, brushing off his back. "Alright, let's keep kicking the four-year-old ass."

They take their bus to Ypsi, and Ryan thinks by now the driver knows them, because he pulls right up in front of the children's center. When they get in, Shane isn't there, and Michael pouts all the way to the back room.

It's odd to see how Michael's changed, just slightly, ever since Ryan met him. Of course, he's still his rude, blunt self, but something about him seems… Ryan wouldn't describe it as happier, just less angry. Ryan doesn't know if it's due to him, or due to whatever else is going on in Michael's life that he doesn't know about. 

After the hurricane of children swarms them, Michael takes off his coat and Ryan's barely able to behave appropriately in front of the kids, because Michael's wearing his collarbone-flashing shirt again and that just reminds Ryan of how he looks without any clothes on at all, which bring back a distinct memory of his lips attached to that collarbone, and just oh my fucking god. 

Michael decides that today is a reading-only day because he's been fucking studying all night yes sirree and he doesn't have enough energy to do much else. "You take _The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Pressure_ , I'll get _The Araboolies of Liberty Street._ " 

They set up in opposite corners of the room, and most of the boys gravitate toward Ryan, the girls to Michael. They really like climbing all over him and playing with his messy hair, as well as interrupting to comment on his eyeliner.

"It's so pretty." Leah tells him, staring into his face. Michael raises his eyebrows. "My mommy can't get it that pretty."

"Well, thank you. You look pretty, too." Michael says, smiling, and Leah squeals and hugs him around the neck. He sticks his tongue out at Ryan across the room. Ryan just rolls his eyes and goes back to telling the repetitive, yet entertaining, tale of the Berenstain Bears. 

Leah looks back and forth between them, then she giggles and says, "Do you like each other?"

Ryan nearly chokes on the air he breathes and blushes furiously. He glances briefly at Michael and sees that he's in a similar situation. Leah laughs again. "You like each other."

"HA HA HA!" Michael says loudly, wiggling Leah's pigtails. "You're cute."

"You're funny." Leah informs him. "You're going to get marri- "

"Oh, look what I found." Michael says hurriedly, digging in his pocket and pulling out a stray Jolly Rancher. "Watermelon. Whatever shall I do with this?" Leah makes grabby hands and he gives it to her, and, satisfied that she's distracted, turns back to _The Araboolies of Liberty Street_. 

Ryan somehow makes it through five hours of sitting in the same room with Michael after what Leah said, and when they're finally done, Michael just zooms out of the center ahead of him, cackling. Ryan blushes and follows him, punching his arm when he gets outside. 

"Shut up."

"Ahh, maybe I'll change my mind about having kids." Michael stretches and pops his neck, then slips his arm through Ryan's like he usually does, but something about it feels warmer this time. "Come on. We're going to a fucking club or something."

"Oh god." Ryan groans. Apparently Michael's in a get-drunk mood. "Where?"

"There's this place that actually plays okay music down near the ramen restaurant, and I know the dude who runs it, so free drinks for us." Michael sits them down at the bus stop. "So, Ryan."

Ryan looks at him. "Sir."

"What the fuck is your story, huh?" Michael nudges him. "I've been, like, complaining about my shitty little existence this entire time, so it's your turn."

"Well, I knew you were going to make me spill all the juicy deets sometime." Ryan mutters. Michael just looks at him. "So, when I was in high school, I was basically the star of my swim team." 

"Modest." Michael comments, and Ryan rolls his eyes.

"Okay, I'm not trying to brag, but I kinda had the fastest times and the prettiest stroke and stuff. But when I got to Michigan, I didn't even make the team." Ryan shrugs. "So my dad said my only other option was go into accounting and join Phi Epsilon to uphold his legacy and shit." Michael makes a face. "Yeah, I know. But then I fucked up with my DUI, so my dad is really fucking disappointed and my mom is all sad and my brothers and sisters just don't get it, so my life is kind of not so great right now."

"Ah."

"I mean…" Ryan wishes he had more time to think over what's about to come out of his mouth, but he just blurts it out like an idiot.

"I mean, except for the you part. You're kind of the coolest thing around right now. Besides, like, my phone and that Nutella gelato they have at Bellucci's." 

Michael looks at him for a while, their arms still linked, and then he just shakes his head, a small smile on his face. "Okay, so I'm worth about as much to you as fucking Nutella gelato is."

"Yeah. And that's, like, pretty high up there, so I wouldn't complain." Michael laughs. "But yeah, so I'm going to be an accountant, I'm going to honor the Lochte family in all the ways that the eldest son should, and lead a shittily shitty life from now on."

"Do they even know you're gay?"

Ryan shakes his head no, because he just doesn't feel like explaining, and Michael makes a small "oh" sound and drops it. "Well, I guess accounting's not that bad. You make a shitload of cash."

"I mean…" Ryan sighs. "You know how everyone's always like, oh, I love my job, I'd kill for that job, I love your line of work, blah blah blah? Well, I just, I don't know if I'd _die_ for accounting. I don't even know if I'd die for anything."

Michael stays silent for a minute, then he says something that sticks in Ryan's head and doesn't let go. 

"Well, if you don't have anything worth dying for, you probably have something worth living for. You just need to get out there and find it."

"See, this is what I'm talking about. This right here." Ryan says before he can stop himself, blushing as Michael looks over at him.

"What?"

"I mean, you just…" Ryan makes a frustrated noise. "You just spout this stuff that should be fucking put in books, you know? Like, what you just said? Where do you even pull this shit out from? And when you really start ripping into something, you get so damn scary, and I just can't argue with you because you're so _right_ , and you're just so fucking smart." Ryan flushes harder, wishing he could just sink into the ground and die, because his mouth has always had a mind of its own. 

Michael just scoffs, his arm shifting under Ryan's. "Dude, I'm not some portable fucking Tao Te Ching. The stuff I say isn't profound, it's normal, okay? Jesus."

"No, it's so not, though. You should hear yourself."

"I'd rather not. You want profound, read _The Elegance Of The Hedgehog._ There's so many pretentious little shitfests that the girl has, it's ridiculous."

"Bah. I bet she's not as bad as you are."

The bus arrives and they ride back to Ann Arbor. It's already starting to get dark outside. Michael tells him to get off right near the ramen place and they walk a couple blocks until they get to this tiny club with drunk, stoned hipsters milling around everywhere. Michael punches the guy at the door's fist and makes a beeline for the bar. "Hey." He says to the bartender. "Two Jagers."

What Ryan doesn't catch is Michael mouthing "make it four, but put it in two glasses" behind his back, because he's too engrossed with the venue itself. There's what looks like a giant rainbow squid with its tentacles wrapped around the University of Michigan painted by some druggie onto the wall, and the only reason he can see it is the lights flashing everywhere. Something that sounds like a remix of Beck is playing, and the the place is tainted with weed and alcohol. 

"Alright, let's loosen this fucker up." Michael says, handing Ryan his shot glass and tipping his back. He drains it in one chug, and Ryan gets the feeling Michael can knock it back and hold it like nobody's business.

The liquor burns pleasantly when he swallows, and his brain not only loosens but disintegrates as he tips back the second one. "Ugh, Michael. It's a shitty world." He declares, slamming his glass down on the table. Michael nods along with him, tapping his booted foot. His coat is thrown over the back of his chair, with his damn collarbone shirt visible. 

"Yeah, Ryan, there's a ton of fuckwads out there." Michael sways forward. "But lemme tell ya something." Ryan nods. "Everyone's… an asshole!" He says triumphantly, giggling. Ryan slaps the table, barely missing Michael's hand.

"Damn right, baby." 

The song changes and Michael suddenly sits bolt upright, mouth falling open. "Tongue Tied!" He shrieks, grabbing Ryan's hand. "Dance with me, you assbutt!" 

Ryan lets Michael drag him drunkenly out onto the dance floor, laughing his head off for some stupid reason. Michael takes his other hand and Ryan's reminded of how Michael danced when he _wasn't_ drunk back at Angel Vacuum, and this time it's even worse, but Ryan could care less because all he wants to do is let go. 

"TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND'S HOUSE, I LOVED YOU THEN AND I LOVE YOU NOW OH YEAH!" Michael screams along. Ryan pulls him closer and lets his hands rest on Michael's hips. Michael winds his arms around his neck and kisses him, tongue pressing against Ryan's. 

"TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND'S HOUSE, MARMALADE WE'RE MAKING OUT OH YEAH!" Ryan yells back, and Michael laughs. Before he knows what he's doing, Michael swivels around and starts grinding with him, one hand on Ryan's cheek and pulling him forward to kiss him. Ryan slings his arms around Michael's waist and just feels Michael's hips move against his, letting his mouth wander down Michael's neck. 

The song ends and Michael's laughter echoes in Ryan's ears as he leads him back to the bar to order more shots, but it's useless to try and collect himself because Michael screams again two songs later. "Sugar, We're Goin' Down! RYAN!"

The Fall Out Boy hit blares over the club's speakers and Ryan drags Michael out this time, yelling the lyrics because dammit he's spent too many years around this song not to love it to death. "I'M JUST A NOTCH IN YOUR BEDPOST, BUT YOU'RE JUST A LINE IN A SONG!" Some guy hip checks Ryan out of the way and starts grinding with Michael, but Michael just runs away from him and into Ryan's arms, laughing so hard tears are starting to leak out of his eyes. Ryan just wraps his arms around Michael, picks him up off his feet, and kisses him as Patrick Stump launches into the chorus, spinning slightly because that's what his head is telling him to do. "We're goin' down, down in an earlier round, and sugar we're goin' down swingin'… " He sings against Michael's lips, and Michael giggles, kissing him harder. 

They don't even make it to the end before Michael's tugging him to the club's bathroom, mouths attached. Michael's laughter can probably be heard from outside the bathroom as Ryan attacks his neck with an onslaught of kisses, pressing Michael back against the wall. 

"Fuck, okay, back to my house, back to my house." Michael gasps, giggling as Ryan bites at his throat, hands wandering up under his shirt. Ryan pulls back, breathing hard, and they stumble out of the bathroom. 

They're still laughing as they're on the bus back to campus, and when they get to their stop, Ryan has to physically stop Michael from face planting. They keep kissing all the way back to Michael's house, stumbling up the stairs and into Michael's bedroom. Michael slams the button on his radio and laughs hysterically when You Shook Me All Night Long starts playing. 

Michael just shoves Ryan back on his mattress in a way that makes Ryan's blood circulate a little faster, straddling him. Ryan tugs at his shirt and they just gradually undress, pausing between articles of clothing to keep making out. Michael reaches under the bed and pulls out a condom, and before Ryan knows it, Michael's slowly sinking down on him again, and he lets his hands rest on Michael's waist and pull him closer so they can kiss. Michael moans softly against his mouth, hips moving with Ryan's. 

"Fuck me." Michael whispers in his ear, and Ryan's drunkenness just enhances how sexy Michael's voice sounds, so he grabs Michael's hips and thrusts faster up into him. It's the fucking tightness that's going to kill Ryan, and when he hears Michael moan in his ear and come, he follows him a second later, hips jerking up until he's done. Michael makes a small noise and rolls off, Ryan's head falling into the crook of his neck. You Shook Me All Night Long is coming to its end, and Michael laughs tiredly, turning it off. Ryan nuzzles back into Michael's neck when he lies down again, wrapping an arm around his waist. He can feel Michael's rapid heartbeat pounding in his chest. 

"'Night." Michael breathes, and Ryan conks out before he can even think about what to do next.

 

 

 

"Oh god." Michael groans, twisting his back as the coffee starts to squeal. "I'm not fucking feeling service today."

"Yup, same." Ryan rasps from the kitchen table, trying to ignore his pounding head. "I think we're actually ahead of schedule."

They both woke up, looked at each other, groaned, and went back to sleep. Michael forced himself out of bed eventually, though, and put on a ridiculously huge black t-shirt and little shorts that made Ryan want to grope him, but he was too hungover to do much of anything. 

Michael comes over with two mugs of coffee and, to Ryan's happy surprise, slides onto his lap. He kicks his legs against the side of the chair as Ryan reaches around him to put his coffee down on the table. "Okay, so today, Angel Vacuum's gonna need our assistance." 

He sways a little and Ryan places a hand on his hip to steady him. "Oh man, that sounds like effort to me." He frowns. "What's going on?"

"Well, assbutt, today is the DECEMBER FIRST ANNUAL FIFTY-PERCENT-OFF-ALL-VINYL SALE!" Michael proclaims, then winces and rubs his head. "Ow. Ow. Fuckity ow." Ryan snorts, sipping his coffee. "Anyway, usually we get some underage kid from Ypsi to help us out because people are literally crowding into the place, but he moved, so you're fucking hired, thank you."

"Oh, Christ." Ryan rubs over his face, pulling his cheeks down and looking mournfully up at Michael. Michael just gives him an unsympathetic smirk. He takes a swig from his mug. "I'm not actually going to get paid, am I?"

"Fuck no, you're not taking a bite out of my nonexistent salary." Michael scoffs. "Just help out, okay? Free food. Free music. Maybe a free 45 if Andy's feeling like a charitable fucker." 

"Okay. I'm in. Whatever, as long as food's there, I'm there."

"Good boy." Michael kisses his cheek. "I'm getting changed, so bye."

Ryan just sits stupidly grinning at the kitchen table until Michael comes back downstairs looking even more flamboyantly gay, with black lace along the wide neck of his long-sleeve. "Hot." Ryan comments. 

"This is my vinyl tycoon outfit." Michael says, tossing Ryan his outfit from the day before. Ryan looks down at his boxers. 

"I can't just go like this?"

"You're clearly still drunk, fucker." Michael sighs. "Put some goddamn clothes on and I'll meet you outside."

They bike to Angel Vacuum, Michael cursing and pulling the hood of his jacket over his face as the cold wind hits it. The streets are a little icy, but Ryan's pretty competent on a bike and they get there in one piece.

There's already a line of people starting at the store's entrance, and Michael parts them like Moses parted the Red Sea, yelling "Excuse me, staff coming through, excuse me," at an obnoxious decibel level until they squeeze through the doors. Andy's hiding behind the counter at the back and lets out a relieved sigh when he sees them. 

"Hey, Ryan. You helping out?" Ryan nods, smiling. Andy mimes bowing to him. "Thanks so much, man. Alright. Michael, you know the drill."

Michael salutes him. "Fuck yes I do, sir."

Andy puts on what must be his war face and heads to the front. There's the click of the door opening and then the bustling of way too many people in one space as they file into the store. It seems like the entire scope of the Michigan population is there. An old man shuffles past holding an old Buddy Holly album, a woman walks by carrying her baby right along with Duran Duran, some punky dude about their age slouches around, Nirvana and Company of Thieves tucked under his arm. 

"Yeah, this is why we need fucking help." Michael mutters, going behind the counter and starting to ring up Buddy Holly guy. "Ryan, handle sales rep and marketing, I'll do the cash register. Will this be all today, sir? Great. I'm glad you love it, I do, too. Your total will be twenty-two ninety."

Ryan just kind of floats around, getting a feel for the layout of the store, which is basically half the shelves alphabetized vinyl, the other half alphabetized CDs. On the sides are posters, t-shirts, and other memorabilia, and at the display rack at the front are the newest records. Behind the cash register at the back are the really expensive originals. And when people start coming up to him and asking where things are, Ryan is surprised when he actually points them in the right direction. 

He gets by for about an hour, then Andy steers him toward the cash register and tells him to switch with Michael. Michael high-fives him and goes to help a girl get her Paramore t-shirt down from the top rack. 

Ryan figures out how to work the register relatively quickly, and midway through, he realizes that Andy makes a good chunk of cash, even besides the giant sale day. One guy drops at least two hundred on seven vinyls, one of them an Radiohead Bends-era rare single. 

Michael's voice nearby catches his attention and Ryan looks around to see Michael showing a guy over to Pink Floyd, the shelf right in front of him. "I think we have A Foot In The Door over here." Something drops in Ryan's chest when he gets a better look at the guy's face.

The guy is really hot, probably hotter than him in a lot of people's eyes, with wavy blond hair and a perfect Crest 3D White smile. He flashes it at Michael when he finds the Pink Floyd. "Thanks. It must be awesome working here."

Michael smiles back. "Yeah."

STOP TALKING MORE THAN NECESSARY, Ryan thinks furiously to himself. But Barbie keeps smiling, leaning up against a shelf and partially obstructing Michael from his view. "You got any job openings?"

"Uh, not at the moment, I think. I could find out, though." 

"I mean, if you just get to listen to whatever all day, I'd probably plug this baby in and blast Wish You Were Here until my ears started bleeding."

Michael smiles, rubbing his hand up one side of his arm. "Yeah, that's a good song."

The guy laughs a bubbly, irritating laugh. Ryan wants to go over and kick his perky ass. "You're so cute. You got a boyfriend?"

He can practically hear Michael's control snap, and Michael shoves the record against Barbie's muscular chest, getting in his face. "Yeah, asswipe, I have a boyfriend. Can't I work in a fucking record store without everything turning into 'Hey, you got a boyfriend, oh, if you don't, how about I take you home and we can fuck?' Piss off and don't even bother paying for your goddamn Pink Floyd. I never even liked them that much anyway. And you know what?" Michael shoves the guy again. "I thought Dark Side of The Moon fucking _sucked_." 

Ryan laughs before he can stop himself, covering his mouth with one hand, and Barbie and Michael look over. "Watch this, fucker." Michael hisses to Barbie, stalking up to the counter, and before Ryan knows what's happening, Michael jumps up, sits on the counter, grabs his face, and starts making out with him. Ryan just closes his eyes and tugs Michael back into him, kissing him harder and grinning when he opens his eyes to see Barbie scurrying out of the store, record clattering back onto the shelf. 

"Sassholes for life." Michael says, fist-bumping Ryan. Luckily, only one customer saw them, and they seem to be pretty chill. "Now, get back to work."

Ryan watches Michael walk away toward the last aisle, still grinning, and rings up the next customer's shirt without even really registering what he's doing.

He has to wonder how many times guys have hit on Michael before, and hot guys like that, too. Because no matter how he looks at it, Michael's really cute, and that guy was also really cute, and they'd probably look really good together if Michael wasn't such an intolerant bitchy bitch at times. And Ryan also has to wonder why, out of all the dudes in this state, Michael decided that he was worthy enough. A twisted but accurate way of putting it. 

They continue that way until lunch, when they actually have to shove people out of the store just to take a break. Andy leads them into the back room and opens the tiny fridge, which has what looks like the carcass of an entire Chinese takeout menu stacked inside. Andy entrusts them to run the place by themselves while he goes outside to take a call, and a few less people come streaming in this time. 

Suddenly, it's six o'clock and Andy shoos the last of the customers out, then turns to Michael and Ryan, fist-bumping each of them. "Due to our lucrative success this fine day, it's free-record-day for Michael and Andy, with our honorary guest Ryan."

Michael squeals and hugs Andy, who also produces three bottles of beer from behind his back. "And I thought these would also be good."

Andy snaps up some Nine Inch Nails right away, and Michael drags Ryan around the aisles, compiling about ten that he has to choose between. Ryan's overwhelmed by the sheer number of them all, so he decides to help Michael out first. 

"Ugh, no. No fucking Panic! At The Disco, Michael, I thought I knew you better than that." Ryan tuts, removing them from the stack. 

"Fuck off, I loved Pretty Odd. But I guess we can take out that and Icky Thump."

"Yeah, that wasn't the best. And maybe no Born To Die."

"True, I already have a copy of it. So that gives us…" Michael holds the last two out. "Radiohead versus The Cranberries."

"Oh, I'm feeling Cranberries all the way."

"Okay. Now you."

Ryan ends up with Nirvana's Nevermind because that's a damn monumental album, and after they chat with Andy over the beers, Andy says he's gotta run and tells them to lock up. 

"You know what, wait a minute. I already have Nevermind." Ryan says firmly, putting it back on the shelf. 

"Ooh. Ooh. How about we go with…" Michael crosses to him and pulls out Mosquito. "This lovely fucking record right here."

"Oh god, fine. They're epic enough." It's the one that Wedding Song is on, and since Ryan has kind of been listening to that on loop as he does his accounting work, he decides it's worth it. "Hey, put on the Cranberries, that's, like, nineties at its cutest."

Michael takes out the turntable and soon, the opening chord of Dreams fills the room. "Oh my god, this fucking _song_." Michael gets up and holds his hands out. "Dance with me."

"You have a thing about dancing in records stores while listening to epic music and and wearing your collarbone-flashing shirts." Ryan tells Michael, taking his hand and spinning him like they do in tango. Michael laughs, twirling very ungracefully away from Ryan and grabbing a random pen that has a huge pink plastic flower on the end, the kind they sell at dollar stores. He puts it between his teeth and Ryan laughs. He leans forward, grabbing it between his own and spinning Michael again. 

"Well excuse the fuck outta me, I wasn't aware my shirts were so X-rated." Michael lets his arms link around Ryan's neck, and it feels like he's about to judo throw him. He spits the pen out onto the floor. "And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don't hurt meeee… " He sings along, arms relaxing. "You're what I couldn't find."

"A totally amazing mind, so understanding and so fiiiine… " Ryan sings back, waltzing along the shelves. "You're everything to me." 

"Oh, my liiiife is changing every day, in every possible way… and all my dreams, it's never quite as it seems, 'cause you're a dream to me, dream to me." Michael sings quietly, more talking now, and Ryan tugs him closer. Michael ends up just awkwardly hugging him and Ryan holds him like that, letting his eyes close for a moment.

"You also have a thing for singing epic lyrics and making me sing them back to you."

"Mainly because they're epic." He can hear the smile in Michael's voice.

"I, uh…" Ryan makes sure Michael can't see his face. "I kind of just like dancing around horribly with you, you know."

"Ooh, 'kay." Michael wiggles in his arms, and Ryan laughs, smacking his butt.

"Not like _that_ , you lech. Like…" He takes a second to try and control his red cheeks. "Like, that night in here, when you put on The White Stripes and you just started dancing? I thought you… I thought you were so hot right then, I just, like, didn't have the balls to tell you, and seriously, you looked amazing." Ryan feels like dying, but it's all just spilling out. "You, uh. You always look amazing."

Dreams ends and Michael pulls back to look at him, smiling. "Well, thank you so fucking much. No one has ever told me that before."

"What? Impossible, you're lying."

"I'm serious. People either say I look like a slut, which I kind of do, or they just don't say anything at all."

"I don't think you look like a slut." Ryan blurts before he can think. "I think you're beautiful."

Michael makes a small noise and their eyes meet. "Shut up."

"I mean it." Ryan says, letting himself just stare rather dumbly at how the light reflects against the deep brown of Michael's irises. It looks like Michael's searching for something in his face, maybe trying to see if he's lying or not, and Ryan doesn't blame him, considering the sheer amount of times he's probably been lied to in his life. 

"Okay." Michael finally says, and his small smile just confirms what Ryan said. Ryan grins at him.

"See? Right there. Just do it more often, and trust me, you'll have all the gay dudes in town losing control of their salivary glands."

"Okay, okay, shut the fuck up, Liberace." Michael mutters, blushing, but the smile is still there. "You thought I looked like a slut when you met me, asshole, so I wouldn't be getting all gooey so fucking fast."

"Yeah, but I'm a changing man." Ryan puffs up his chest. "I've realized my flaws. My morals are higher than Mr. Burns himself can lay claim to. My magnanimity knows no limits. I am, indeed, a man amongst men." 

Michael just laughs, tipping his head back, and Ryan resists the urge to start kissing down it. "Oh god, you say I'm fucking weird."

"Uh, yeah, you are. And also, I was a rude asshole back then and I'm still sorry." Ryan pouts at him. Michael rolls his eyes.

"Forget about it, dipshit. Now, we have to get back, it's like, past my bedtime."

 

 

 

Their next round of classes flies by, and it seems like the entire school is getting ready for winter break, in just one more week. Ryan basically has to go back to Florida for Christmas, because his mom will not take no for an answer.

He finds himself getting distracted in his course and wondering what Michael's going to be doing for break. Probably studying, getting high off drugs he probably shouldn't possess, and god knows what else. 

It shocks Ryan to find that he's actually _worrying_ about him. 

He just throws that thought away and focuses on their community service schedule. They have thirty-one hours down, and even though they seem to be on the right track, it still looks like too little to Ryan. So that Saturday, Ryan makes Michael get up by calling him relentlessly, and they head over to the homeless shelter to do another five hours.

Luckily, there's no creepy perverts hanging around that time, and Michael gets the food done without excessive complaints. It's just about cramming in the hours at this point before break starts, and when they get back to the University, Michael grumbles something about studying and starts to leave, but Ryan pulls him back by his hood and kisses him before he can get anywhere.

The next day, they repeat the same pattern, except after they leave the homeless shelter, Michael leads Ryan to a different bus stop. "Okay, assbutt, you're Christmas shopping with me."

"Oh, hold on one second- " Ryan starts to protest, but it's almost like the bus has developed a grudge against him because it pulls up and Michael shoves him on and into a seat. "Wait, I have to- "

"Have to what?" Michael says, smiling in a way that is too sexually suggestive to be legal. He runs his nails down Ryan's arm, lightly, but Ryan can still feel through his jacket it like it's right against his skin. 

"Uh. Nothing. Uh. Uh."

"That's what I thought." Michael says, but his hand moves to Ryan's leg and stays there for the rest of the ride. They get off a little further away from UMich at a surrounding hipster neighborhood, but it's more drugged-up looking than the ones closer to the university.

"Okay, for Ben, I know a little head shop that sells fucking unicorn-shaped bongs. You toke out of the horn, I swear." Ryan snickers. "And for Andy, I'm just going to float around the shops until I find something that's screaming his name."

Ryan makes a whimpering noise. "But… b-but what ab-bout m-me?"

Michael rolls his eyes. "Yeah, buttface, I'm doing one for you but I'm not gonna fucking tell you what it is. Geez."

"Yay." Ryan leans over and kisses Michael's cheek, slinging an arm around his waist. Michael laughs and presses closer to him, breath clouding in white vapors.

Something that's uncomfortably hot begins to collect in the left side of Ryan's chest and he almost feels like stopping, but maybe his heart has just been a little cold before now. But the warmth doesn't go away, even when Michael goes away from him to open the door of the head shop, and Ryan's a little worried by then.

Michael quickly locates his unicorn bong and Ryan checks out the stuff on the shelves as Michael heads to the register, but he doesn't really see any of it because that warmth is starting to cloud his vision as well, if that were possible. 

Michael leads him down the block to an Urban Outfitters and looks around for a while, then emerges from the sale section with a graphic tee of Muhammad Ali, arms thrown up in victory. "This, forever."

"I can actually see him wearing that, though."

When he talks to Michael, the warmth eases off a little. 

On the bus back to UMich, Michael says that Andy needs him at Angel Vacuum and, making sure no one's watching them, kisses Ryan goodbye. 

 

 

 

When he gets into class on Wednesday, the first thing Michael says to Ryan is, "It's tomorrow."

"What's… " Ryan trails off at the grim look on Michael's face. "Oh. Shit. Time?"

"It's at fucking four and ends at six, if you can't go don't sweat it."

"No." Ryan says, following Michael with his eyes as he sits next to him. "I'm gonna make it, I promised you I would."

"Okay." Michael mutters, but he still looks a little sick to his stomach. 

"Hey." Ryan bumps Michael's leg under the table, and he wants to kiss him so bad, but Mr. Burns has just come in and told them to get out their notebooks, class, it's gender identity day. "You're gonna be fine, okay? I'll be waiting for you afterward."

Michael looks at him, something on his face that Ryan hasn't seen before. "Okay."

By Thursday, Ryan's already feeling secondhand dread, and he hopes he doesn't have to actually see Michael's dad, because he'll probably punch his lights out and then kill him with fire. He plops Michael on the back of his bike and takes them to the State of Michigan Courthouse, which is about twenty minutes away from the university. Even though it's the same temperature as it was on Wednesday, the air seems colder somehow, and harsher. 

Ryan parks his bike in the back lot of the courthouse and Michael immediately grabs his arm, shivering. Ryan suspects it's not just from the cold. "Okay, okay. Relax, breathe, relax, breathe." Ryan chants softly to him as he opens the heavy wooden door, letting Michael go in before him. 

When he turns back from closing it, Michael's actually trembling and he looks like he's about to commit suicide. Ryan glances at the clock and sees that it's 3:55. "Alright, Michael Phelps, time for a pep talk." He says, looking Michael up and down pointedly.

Michael just rushes forward and hugs him, clinging onto his shoulders like he's about to die and Ryan's the last person he's ever going to see. Ryan lets his hands rest on Michael's back.

"I didn't eat anything today. Or yesterday. And I haven't fucking slept in a week." Michael mutters into his shoulder. Ryan rubs over his back and turns his head to kiss the top of Michael's head. "Oh god, don't do that, you shithead, you're going to make me cry."

Ryan laughs softly and gently separates himself from Michael, holding him by his waist. "Listen up, Michael. You're going to go in there and fucking kill it. I know you are, because I know you."

Michael shakes his head, not looking at him. "I can't feel my fucking hands."

Ryan takes them between his own and kisses the backs in response. "You're a fucking genius. I swear. You're going to go in there and they're going to see that, and you're going to come out alive. And I'm going to grab your gorgeous face and kiss the shit out of you whether you're an legally emancipated whaddya-call-it or not. Got it?"

"Okay. Okay." Michael nods, finally looking up at him. "Okay."

A sudden crowd suddenly emerges from the courtroom, and one woman is crying hysterically and clutching who must be her husband. Michael takes one look and clings onto Ryan again, nails digging into his back. "Oh, shit, I can't do this. I can't fucking do this."

Ryan glances nervously at the clock and sees that it's 3:58. "Yes, you can. I know you can." He tips Michael's chin up with his finger. "You can do this. I'll be waiting for you right here."

"Michael Phelps, please enter the courtroom." A pantsuited woman calls, opening the doors again, and Ryan can hear all the air leave Michael's lungs. He releases Ryan mechanically, and Ryan wants to grab him and just kiss him and tell him that it's going to be okay, and that weird heat in his chest is getting uncomfortable again, but the woman puts a reassuring hand in the small of Michael's back and starts leading him inside.

Michael looks back once, expression unreadable, then he disappears and the doors slam closed behind him. 

Ryan flops down on a bench across from the entrance and just sits with his head in his hands, not really thinking about anything, just letting his brain do what it wants. 

He doesn't know how, but two hours feels like five minutes, and when the clock hand strikes six, Ryan stands abruptly as the doors open. 

Michael comes shooting out and throws his arms around Ryan, and Ryan can hear him sobbing, and he just holds him like he really is about to die. "Yes?" Ryan murmurs in his ear, and Michael nods, shoulders convulsing up and down. "Oh my god." Ryan feels the smile spreading over his own face and Michael starts laughing, laughter that is so in-a-state-of-shock that Ryan can't help but laugh along with him, and then Michael pulls back and his eyeliner is streaking down his face, so Ryan wipes it away with his sleeve and just kisses him over and over again. 

"I told you you could do it, you fucking moron, look at you, you're such a mess." Ryan tells him, and that just makes Michael cry harder, which makes Ryan hold him closer. 

They never see Michael's dad as they make their way out of the courthouse, to Ryan's relief. Michael has calmed down by then and manages to get himself onto the back of Ryan's bike. "TO INFINTY AND FUCKING BEYOND!" He yells to the parking lot, throwing his arms up as Ryan pedals away, laughing. He takes the bike lane on the main road back, Christmas lights streaking trails in the dark sky above them and the snow starting to fall again. 

"I'm a hot rod, so you better hold on tight, babe." Ryan warns Michael as he starts going faster. Michael laughs and pumps one fist in the air behind him. 

"I'M FUCKING LEGALLY EMANCIPATED, MOTHERFUCKERRRS!" He declares to the street whizzing by, heads of the pedestrians turning to stare at them. 

But Ryan could care less, because he's more absorbed in the fact that since Michael's happy, he's happy.

 

 

 

Ryan calls Michael on Friday and tells him to meet on the green before their last Youth Wellness class, because overnight, he scored tix for _mumble-mumble-throat clear_ , because he can't tell Michael what it is. 

He can swear there's an extra bounce in Michael's step, or maybe he's just high, when Ryan sees him heading across the green. "Alright, so. We." Ryan starts when Michael reaches him. 

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Get it out."

"Are going to the UMich versus NYU ice hockey game tomorrow!" Ryan says triumphantly, and Michael screams.

"You're fucking telling me that?! Are you fucking serious?!" Michael herds Ryan into the school, pushing him into the bathroom, and once they're inside, he grabs Ryan's face and kisses him. Ryan backs him up against the counter and Michael slides onto it, laughing against Ryan's lips. 

The feeling is kind of amazing, and Ryan lets his hands travel up Michael's legs as he kisses harder. Michael's hands press to his chest, but he's not keeping him away. 

But then they here a shocked "Ah" from behind them, and Ryan jerks away from Michael to see Mr. Burns staring at them, looking like he's seen a ghost. 

"Um." Ryan says.

"I was… I was in the stall, and I heard… " Mr. Burns stutters, blushing to the roots of his thin brown hair. "I'll just, uh… be going now."

He hurries out of the bathroom and it only takes one look between them before they start hooting with laughter. "The fucking look on his face… " Michael gasps, wiping at his eyes. "Like he was going to poop or something… " Ryan adds, and Michael bursts out laughing again, tipping his head back. This time, Ryan can't control himself and he leans forward and just starts kissing roughly down it, Michael's laughter still ringing in his ears. Michael ends up pressed against the mirror and they just make out until they hear the students rushing through the halls for their last class of the day. 

"Okay. Okay." Michael giggles, unsticking Ryan's face from his collarbone where his shirt is pulled down. "Come on, asshole, we're going to be late."

"Since when did you care about being late?" Ryan asks as they head up the stairs to classroom 416. 

"I don't, but I was getting a boner and that wouldn't be fucking good." Michael says frankly, pulling open the door. "Git."

There's an awkward Christmas party setup and music playing in the classroom, with half-hearted cookies that Camila made sitting on an extra desk. "Party hard, people." Michael mutters once they walk in, starting to sway his hips to Jingle Bell Rock. 

Mr. Burns asks the usual winter break questions, what are they all going to be doing, any special family plans, blah blah blah. He can't quite look Michael and Ryan in the eyes when he gets to them.

"Oh, I'll be staying here and enjoying my life as a legally emancipated human." Michael informs Mr. Burns, and he gets the same look on his face that he did in the bathroom.

"Er… how nice."

"Fuck yeah." Michael starts clapping his hands to whatever song that's playing. Ryan thinks it could be Frosty The Snowman. "Spontaneous legal emancipation dance!" He grabs Ryan's hand and starts swinging him around, Ryan motioning to the rest of the class, but they just stare. "Oh, nope, okay. Fine. Damn corpses in here."

When the party ends, Ryan can hear all the students rushing out of the classrooms and throwing their books into the air as they start packing. He walks Michael back to his house afterward, grumbling about how stupidly hot Florida's going to be.

"You coming in?" Michael asks as he opens the door, and Ryan can't miss what that means, so yes, he is coming in. 

The moment Michael shuts the door, they're kissing, and they stumble up the stairs and into Michael's room. "Shower." Michael mutters against his mouth, starting to strip off his clothes and tugging at Ryan's. 

They're naked by the time they get to Michael's bathroom, and Michael blasts the hot water, steam immediately filling the room. Ryan backs him up against the counter in a much dirtier way than he did in the school bathroom, sucking at Michael's jawline. "The idea is to fucking _shower_ , dipshit." Michael starts, but Ryan bites at his throat to get him to shut up. 

Ryan drops a hand between Michael's legs when Michael tells him to get a move on, they don't have all day (except they kind of do) and slips one, then two fingers inside him. Michael moans as Ryan presses him back against the mirror again, the sound of the shower slightly muffling it. "Okay, okay, now fuck me."

Michael gasps, the sound turning into a soft moan as Ryan enters him. Ryan kisses him, sliding his hands down Michael's sides to rest on his hips as he starts thrusting, Michael moaning at the deepest point. Ryan groans as he feels himself getting close ridiculously close, and it's the fucking noises Michael's making combined with the nails scratching down his back that tips him over the edge, and before he knows it, Michael's coming too and slumping back as Ryan pulls out.

"Guh." Michael enthuses, Ryan dropping his head into the crook of Michael's neck. Michael's handprint is in the steam in the mirror, and the outline of his back. 

"Yeah." Ryan breathes. Michael slips off the counter and into the shower, pulling Ryan with him. "Yeah."

 

 

 

On Saturday, the day he leaves for Florida, Ryan picks Michael up for the ice hockey game, carrying a small suitcase for Florida with him. The NYU team looks pretty frightening. 

"I used to go to all the Detroit games when I was a kid." Michael says, sizing up the enemy. "And the Blackhawks."

"Oh, yeah, I think they won whatever major championship this year."

"Yeah, I was so fucking pissed."

The game begins and within ten minutes, NYU fouls them and Michigan gets a penalty shot. "Ha. Fuckers." Michael commentates, and Ryan feels like he's going to hear a lot of mixed opinions from his right side. The NYU goalie nearly blocks it, but the puck scoots into the corner and they both throw their arms up, screaming blending in with the rest of the crowd. Play continues until midway through the game, when the NYU forward gets really angry at their defense and, to Michael's rage, hits one of the UMIch players in the head with his stick. 

"YOU ASSHOLE!" Michael screams, and the ref flags a red card. The crowd screams its approval. "Pound the piddly perp to parsimonious puddle of piss!" 

Ryan just stares at Michael. "What?" Michael snaps. "What a fucking sore loser."

Michael makes similar comments all throughout the game, and Ryan wants to laugh, but he's just dreading the fact that in four hours, he's going to be on the plane to Florida.

It's not just that they don't have all their hours done yet, it's that he'll be keyword: Leaving. Leaving Michael alone. 

He's not all that worried about Michael, because he's tough. He can handle himself. He's more worried about himself, and how his chest is starting not only to heat up, but also hurt, when he looks at Michael. 

"Hey." Ryan says, whipping out his phone and opening the camera, because this is basically it for him. After this, it's the joy of ninety-degree temperatures and alligators running around in the middle of the roads. "Smile."

Michael rolls his eyes, but leans in as Ryan flips the camera toward them. They do about ten derping ones and three decent ones, and there's one where they're just laughing that makes Ryan want to do a cheek-kiss, but that's presumptuous. 

The game ends way too fast with Michigan 3-1 and Ryan wants to keep Michael there, just keep Michael next to him, but that's impossible. "You're coming to the airport with me." Is the best he can come up with as they exit the stadium. Michael rolls his eyes and grumbles something, but he gets on the shuttle with Ryan anyway. 

Ryan's heart is starting to beat faster and faster and hurt more and more as they near the airport, and when the shuttle pulls up at the main entrance, Ryan swears it just stops beating. As Michael walks him through the doors, the pain spreads, oddly, to the bottoms of his feet. 

They reach the check-in and the baggage drop-off, and Ryan stops at the end of the line to the turnstile. "Call me, dipshit, or I'll kill you." Michael says, looking directly at him, and Ryan doesn't doubt it.

"Don't worry. I'll even write you a wax-sealed letter, brought to you on the wings of a carrier pigeon."

"They're fucking extinct." Michael laughs, leaning against one of the supports for the line dividers. Ryan wants to grab him and make love to him on the airport floor, but that would be illegal. "Okay. You're up."

Ryan glances behind him and sees that the person in front of him is already presenting their ID to security. "Okay. Okay." He takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna kiss you bye now, and I'm going to come back, even though my family's in Florida but I still wanna see you and- "

He's interrupted by Michael's arms sliding around his neck and their lips pressing together, and the pain in Ryan's chest is suddenly all gone and he dips Michael back, holding him as close as he can. 

A little girl starts clapping and giggling from behind them, and Michael laughs softly as he pulls away, arms staying around Ryan's neck. "Alright, assbutt. Get outta here."

Ryan looks to see the security guard waiting and looking extremely awkward. "Okay. Bye, Michael."

"Bye, Ryan."

Ryan turns apologetically to the guard and produces his ID. He's waved through without a second glance.

When he looks back, Michael is gone.

 

 

 

Ryan boards the plane, feeling a little lost, sad, and sick to his stomach, but the old guy next to him smiles and he has to smile back, mumbling "excuse me" as he takes his window seat. He looks out at the dreary grey sky, the snow seeming sort of heavy and depressing now. 

The plane takes off and as Ryan watches the ground fall away from them, his stomach in his throat, he imagines Michael walking down the street in his lanky model slouch, wearing his black eyeliner and dressed like a little punk, just a tiny dot in the lit-up city getting further and further away from him. He imagines, not caring how corny it is, that there's a black line connecting them that's long enough to last all the way across the country. 

Ryan sighs and puts in his earbuds, already regretting leaving, and the first song that comes on is, to Ryan's great vexation, Wedding Song. "Nice try, iPhone." Ryan mutters, flipping to the next one, but it's 6th Avenue Heartache, and the next one is by the White Stripes, and by then Ryan's ready to have a nervous breakdown. 

The flight is pretty much torture, because Ryan's never been a fan of heights, and his phone has also developed a prejudice against him. He can't help but open his photos and look at the ones from the game, and the best one is definitely where they're laughing, because it's just natural and it basically encases them as a whole.

Them as a whole.

_What am I even doing_ , Ryan thinks, furiously throwing his phone in his bag and shutting it off. Damn Apple products.

Ryan feels like he can finally breathe when they touch down at Miami International, exiting the terminal and claiming his luggage as fast as he can. His heart starts galloping around in his chest again when he sees his family waiting outside the gates. 

"Mom! Dad!" He calls, getting their attention. Ike's hands fly to her mouth when she sees him, and the moment Ryan steps through, smiling, she envelops him in a huge hug, the familiar smell of her Lancôme Tresor filling his nose. 

"Oh, my baby." She says, and Ryan can hear the tears in her voice. He pulls back and sees her wiping her mascara away, which he's always thought she never needed. Ryan's always looked at his mother as the most beautiful woman in the world, like all sons usually do. "How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm great, Mom. I'm great." Steven steps forward, his smile not quite as huge, but it's still there and it's real. "Hey, dad."

"Son. I hope you're alright." He claps a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Good to finally _see_ you, huh?"

"Yeah. I missed you guys." Ryan hears a giggling from behind the nearest sign advertising Quizno's Subs, and he turns grinning. "Hm, I wonder where my siblings could have gone."

Megan and Kristin crack first, rushing out and hugging him at the same time. Ryan wraps his arms around both of them and holds them out, feigning shock. "Who are these strangers?"

"Ah, shut up, ya lazy lump." Megan musses up his hair, having to reach a little further up than she used to. "God, the stud has returned."

"Megs." Kristin chides. She's the eldest, and his sisters have both already finished with college. "How's it going, Bean?" Bean has been his family's nickname for him since forever. 

"Um, it sucks." Ryan says matter-of-factly. "Ugh, you guys have gotten even more attractive since I left for my high-intensity education. You're making me jealous."

Megan opens her mouth, grinning, but the weight of his brother Devon barrels into him from the side and Ryan almost falls over, laughing and shoving at them. "Oh god, he's killing me."

Devon straightens up, giving him a bro-hug. He's sixteen, and he's grown a couple more inches since Ryan last saw him. "Hey, dude." Ryan drawls. "What's crackalackin'?"

"Please." Devon says, feigning disgust. "How's it hangin', broseph?"

"Good, good. Hope you stopped dating that freak Anya."

"Uh, yeah. I told her it was a… how did I phrase it? A toxic relationship."

"Got that right. Where's the little one?"

"RYAN!" A just-cracking voice calls, and Ryan looks to see his thirteen-year-old youngest brother Brandon emerging from the bathrooms. Brandon's intelligence rivals that of Albert fucking Einstein's, and he's gotten to be so nastily pretentious that he skipped two grades the year before. As a result, he's the only five-foot-six sophomore at his high school. "Heyyy! Brand!"

Brandon jumps him with just as much force as Devon. "Hi." He says, grinning.

"Hi back." Ryan accepts his bro-fist. "What's collapsed into ruins ever since I left?"

"More like what's prospered and self-aggrandized since your departure."

"TOO SMART. THE WAVE OF SMARTNESS." Ryan chokes, shoving Brandon away from him. Brandon laughs. "Alright, how about we get back to Chateau Lochte? I'm kind of starving."

They all pile into the car, Ryan bombarded with questions about the university, and he carefully avoids telling them about Michael and the community service. He doesn't feel ready to do that yet. 

Maybe he'll break the news to his parents later, but Ryan doesn't want to think about that at the moment. He just wants to be around his family. 

Christmas is sort of a let's-fake-it contest in Florida, so when they finally get to the house, Ryan walks through the doors to find a giant tree in the corner, fake fluffy snow stuffed in random places, pine-scented candles everywhere, and lights strung up in every corner. "Jesus, you guys, this is better than last year's."

"Mom made The Pie." Devon tells him as they file into the dining room. 

"Oh, shoot, really? My stomach hasn't felt The Pie in a year, we're overdue." 

Ike emerges from the kitchen with her famous pecan pie, and Ryan makes a joyous sound, jumping up and hugging her. "Love you, Mom."

She shoos all his sibling away from the pie and sets it down in the middle of the table along with the chicken, peas, and mashed potatoes. "Wow, you guys really went all out." Ryan observes. Steven chuckles.

"Gotta give my Bean a good welcome back." He claps a hand on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan's always been his favorite, but Ryan makes sure not to lord it over his brothers and sisters. Even after the DUI, his father still can't hide it.

"Start, start, I'm just washing my hands." Ike calls from the kitchen, and they all dig in. 

Dinner is basically a family-friendly interrogation, and Ryan keeps skirting around the service and Michael. He doesn't even know if he's ever going to let on that he's kind of been messing around with a dude, and a dude with Big Problems on top of that, for the past month to his parents. 

Coming out, in Ryan's eyes, is a lot scarier in real life and with much less pleasant results. So he doesn't exactly want to take that risk, on top of his ejection from Phi Epsilon, his stupid goddamn DUI, and his flaws in general. 

Ryan excuses himself after they're done and while Brandon helps the girls clean up, he heads upstairs with his suitcase. The moment he dumps it out onto his bed, his phone falls out of the front pocket, and his phone reminds him of his camera, which reminds him of his photos, which reminds him of Michael.

If everything he sees is going to remind him of Michael, it's going to be a long winter break. 

Since they had a pretty late dinner, Ryan just hops in bed and tries to sleep, but he can't, because he's wondering if Michael's falling asleep, too, alone in his house.

It takes him a long time, but around one in the morning, Ryan drifts off to sleep. The last thing on his mind is how Michael's cheek dimples in when he smiles, and how his lips tasted that night after Thanksgiving, like hot toddies and baked Alaskas.

 

 

 

The next five days pass by in a blur, and Ryan gradually sleeps less and less, and talks to his family less and less. Brandon immediately sees what's up, since they're the closest out of all his siblings, and on the night of the twentieth, he just barges into Ryan's room at midnight. "I know you're not asleep." He says in response to Ryan's groan.

"Whaddya want?" Ryan makes a noise of protest as Brandon flicks a dim light on, sitting in the chair of his old desk. "Seriously, what's up?"

"More like what's up with you." Brandon eyes him in a way that is so powerfully reminiscent of Michael, laced with the same intelligence, but also suspicion, that Ryan has to stop and think about what he just said.

"Nothing's up. Nothing is up. Why would anything be up?" Ryan mumbles, flushing slightly. Brandon sighs.

"I'm gonna be here all night until you get it out."

Ryan looks at Brandon for a while, trying to see if he's in a heavy-listening mood, and decides that if he's going to tell anyone, it'll be Brandon. "Okay. But you have to promise to me that you're not going to tell Mom and Dad."

"Yeah, dude, don't worry about it."

"Okay. Okay."

Slowly, but with the determination that he's not going to stop, Ryan just tells Brandon everything, starting with the DUI all the way up to he and Michael making out after Thanksgiving (he skips over the sexy sex parts, but he can tell Brandon's got him figured out) and the day he left, when Michael kissed him in the airport. 

Brandon's silent for a long time afterward, then he goes over and sits on the edge of Ryan's bed. "You said your chest got all painful and warm and uncomfortable when you looked at him."

"Yeah." Ryan scrubs his hands over his face. "It's just so stupid and weird, Brand, like, that shouldn't be there. It's like I broke my lung or something, but it's worse than that, and I can't get his face out of my head, and I think something's wrong with me."

Brandon laughs, and what he says just about shatters Ryan's world.

"Sounds to me like you're in love."

Ryan's mouth falls open and he grabs his pillow, throwing it in Brandon's face. 

"NO. Shut up, that statement is so completely false, shut up, there's no way…"

"Is there something wrong with it?" Brandon says quietly, and that shuts Ryan up.

There are so many things wrong with it, I just can't think of any at the moment, he wants to scream, wants to prove…

What does he even want to prove?

If he is in love (which he's clearly not,) then is there an actual problem, aside from the fact that he's in love (which he's clearly not,) and does that fact itself even have its pros and cons?

 _Yes,_ his brain says, _it has many problems. Michael has problems. You can't afford to be in love with someone like that._

 _No_ , his heart says, _everything's going to be okay in the end. You'll see soon enough._

"Oh, shit. Oh shit shit shit." Ryan mutters, burying his face in a handful of blankets. This terrible tsunami of feelings and stupid things that should stay in Wellness class has just crashed over his head. "Oh shit."

"Yeah, I thought so." Brandon's equanimity regarding the situation is all the more infuriating. Ryan makes a raging-bull noise.

"How are you so fucking calm? You basically just took a hold of my stupid heart and twisted around to see what's been fucking in front of me, you little shit- "

"I'm going to ask you again, is there something wrong with that?"

Ryan twists his blanket roughly. "How the hell am I supposed to answer? And what am I supposed to do now, walk around wearing some badge like I Am In Love Now And I Don't Know What The Fuck I'm Doing, am I supposed to tell him, how am I supposed to tell him, what's he going to say, and why the hell am I asking you?! You're thirteen, for christ's sake, what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

After Ryan's finished with his tirade, breathing hard, Brandon looks ready to laugh, but he just gets up silently. "Well, nice knowing you."

"Shut up, shut up. I'm such a wreck right now."

"Bean." Brandon says, that same intelligent, curious expression on his face that is so Michael. "Like I said, I don't think there's anything wrong with it. You're going to be okay. When the time comes to take whatever action you need to, you're going to follow through. You always do."

"No, Brand, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I don't even know if what you just said is true or not, I don't even know if I love this guy or not, but oh god. Oh god, I think you're right."

It's all starting to sink in now, and everything Ryan told Brandon is just being thrown back at him. He closes his eyes, trying to shut Michael's voice out of his brain, but it's useless, because the realization that he's fucking _in love_ with him is starting to settle into place and- 

_"Well, if you don't have anything worth dying for, you probably have something worth living for. You just haven't found it yet."_

Shut up, Michael, shut up-

_"Never said I couldn't try anything, dipshit, now shut up."_

No, you shut up, I'm the one who's dying right now-

_"Hey! You!"_

Hey, Michael. Hey. I think I love you.

Brandon's voice cuts back into his consciousness and Ryan really does feel like he's about to die, heart pounding. "I'm going back to my room. Just… " Brandon makes a calm-down motion with his hands. "Chill out. You're gonna be fine."

"No." Ryan mutters, falling back onto his mattress.

"Bean, there's nothing wrong with falling in love. There can't be anything wrong with falling in love in the first place, because if there was, why would something like that even exist?"

And, with that, Brandon leaves Ryan alone in his dark, suddenly lonely room with his racing mind and his painful heart.

 

 

 

"Mom. Dad. You mind if I talk to you?" 

Today is The Day.

"Sure, hon. Living room?"

"Yeah."

After a long and miserable night, Ryan had decided to just let it all spill out. And by all, he vowed to himself, he meant _all_. 

Steven and Ike sit across from him on one couch, Ryan on the other. "I, uh." Ryan coughs, trying to just make noise in the dead silence. His hands are shaking, the small of his back is a mini Antarctica, and his stomach is just dead. Not churning. Just dead. "Have something to tell you."

Steven raises an eyebrow. "Oh, dear. Honey, this can't be good." Ike slaps at his sleeve. "Spit it out, son. You didn't get some girl pregnant, did you?"

"No. No. God, no. It's, uh. It's something else. Well, it's like, it's a lot of things."

"Okay." Ike looks concerned. "Come on, Bean. You can tell us."

Ryan takes a deep breath. 

"Okay. So, um. After I got my DUI, which I'm still really sorry about, you guys… " His parents nod. "The school made me sign up for a class called Youth Wellness, and, for the class, do fifty hours of community service by the end of 2013." 

Ike winces. "Yikes. Is that why you wanted to stay home for Thanksgiving?"

Ryan bites his lip. "Uh, yeah. That's part of it."

There's silence, and then Steven frowns, leaning forward. "Well, what's the other part?"

Ryan's heart is slamming against his chest, and when he looks down, his shirt is bumping slightly. "I. Okay. So, uh, they assigned us partners for the service project. And I… " He hasn't prepared himself to describe Michael in any way, so he just blurts out whatever he can think of. "I got paired with this boy named Michael. He, uh… he was looking at me like he hated me the entire class, and when it ended, our teacher told us to get to know each other, quote-unquote, a little better the next day."

"Okay… " Ike raises her eyebrows. "What's he like?"

"Um, that's kind of what I was getting to." Ryan closes his eyes briefly, and Michael's face flashes across his vision. "He, um. So we went out for some ramen the next night, and Mom, Dad, this guy is so freaking smart. But he… he's had a lot of problems, and I don't want you to judge him by them, but I'll get to that later. Anyway, he… he's really, really skinny, he wears this super intimidating black eyeliner, he always dresses completely in black, and he just looks really damn unapproachable."

Steven frowns. "And…"

"Well, that night, I guess I got him to talk, and you guys, he's had a lot of problems, like I said. He, uh. He was, um."

"What?"

"He was sexually abused and raped when he was younger, and he got addicted to heroin. And he cut himself. And he was basically a prostitute for like a tiny amount of time." Ryan blurts. His parents wince simultaneously.

"Jesus." Steven breathes. "Who is this poor kid?"

"Guys, no. He's better now, he actually just divorced his father."

"Divorced his father? I didn't know that was possible." Ike says, looking worried.

"Neither did I." Ryan clears his throat, getting ready to deliver it. "But anyway, after he opened up, I guess, I said something really stupid and he just screamed at me in the middle of the restaurant, but I followed him and he was crying and I felt so bad so I gave him my tissues and he called me an asshole but I didn't really mind, and then I got to know him and he's amazing, I swear, people always judge him only by how he looks but if you get beyond that he's so beautiful and then so we were friends, but then we kind of made out the day after Thanksgiving and things went from there and now I think I'm in love with him and I just had to let you know."

The dead quiet following makes Ryan want to start digging his own grave. His mom and dad look exactly the same: in shock.

Ike gathers herself together first, and the thing she says would make Ryan laugh if the situation wasn't so serious. "Honey, we didn't even know you were sexually active."

"Mom." Ryan feels like he's going to break down and cry. "Mom, I just told you I'm gay in the worst way possible, and if you need me to say it again, then here you go, I'm gay, and if all you can think about is my sexual activity then- "

"So you and this boy… " Steven interrupts him. His face is now unreadable. "You think you're in love with him."

"Dad, I know this is probably a huge shock to you and I'm sorry, but I kind of know I'm in love with him, I just phrased it in a way that's less traumatizing." Ryan looks away. "I'm really sorry, you guys, but I want to go back to Michigan tomorrow, and I'll totally understand if you want to keep me here and I'll stay if you do, it's just… " He takes a deep breath. 

"He's just really important to me. And I would give the world for him."

Now, he's just telling the truth as it stands.

Ike and Steven look at each other, having an eye conversation that only parents can have, and then Steven sighs, shrugging. "C'mere, son."

Ryan stands, but his legs are shaky and he barely makes it to the couch. Ike pats the space between herself and his father. Steven clears his throat and continues.

"Look, Bean." He slings an arm around Ryan's shoulders. "Your mother and I… " Ike smiles, looking like she's going to cry herself, and takes Ryan's hand. 

"We always knew you were gonna be different, kiddo. From the moment your beautiful face popped into this world, we had this feeling, and I guess we were just waiting for you to figure it all out. That's just who you are, and it's what you're always going to be."

"Dad… "

"And we love you for being who you are." Ike says, squeezing Ryan's hand. "Not anyone else. Not your brothers, hopefully not your sisters, just you. We love you for being our Ryan, not anybody else's version of him. And whatever you do with your life, you know we're going to be three hundred percent behind you."

"Yeah, except for getting caught drunk driving and getting kicked out of my old frat house- " Steven starts to mutter, but he has to stop and smile, because Ryan just grabs both of them and hugs them as tight as he can, eyes squeezing shut. 

"Now, Ryan, if you really think you're in love with that boy, I want you to go to him, because I trust you." Ike says when they pull apart, and Ryan makes a squeaky noise and hugs her again. "Yes, alright, dear. We love you."

"I love you guys, too." Ryan mutters, sort of unable to breathe because he has just come out to his parents and he has not been murdered by said parents yet, so it might be safe to assume that all is well. "I hope you love me enough to pay for my early plane ticket back to Michigan, because- "

"Yeah, we will, you little brat." Steven chuckles, mussing up the top of his head. "I think we can get you there by the twenty-second, if we try hard enough." 

"Oh my god, I doubly love you. To the moon and back." 

"Love you too, kiddo." Steven tells him. Then he slaps his palms against his thighs and stands. "Well, I think that was enough trauma for one day, so I'm going to make some tea to calm my ruptured nerves. Care to join me, Ike?"

"Oh, sure." Ike gives the top of Ryan's head a pat. "Come and have some tea with us, Bean."

Ryan watches her disappear into the kitchen with his father and start pulling out a pot and three cups like it's a normal Friday morning, and wonders how he could ever live without them.

 

 

 

"Michael!"

"YOU IDIOT ASSHOLE, IT'S SEVEN IN THE MORNING, THIS HAD BETTER BE- "

"Okay, okay, sorry. Sorry. Anyway- "

"Hurry up, I'm fucking fading already, hurry up."

"I'm coming home. Oh, I mean, uh, I'm, uh, I'm coming back. To campus. Not home."

"Holy shit, you're kidding. You're kidding me, you said you were staying until the twenty-ninth, what the fuck happened to you?"

"Nothing, I just felt like it. But I have something planned, i.e. your Christmas present, so you better stay where you are."

"What?"

Ryan taps Purchase Tickets, then shuts his phone off, smiling to himself. 

"Can't tell you. It's too epic."

"You can't first tell me you can't tell me anything, then fucking tell me it's too epic to tell me anything."

"Sorry, that was rude. But I'm touching down today and I'm gonna take tomorrow to get adjusted to shitty Michigan time, but be at your house at ten on Tuesday. Ten at night."

"Christ, okay. Hurry up and get over here, I need someone to make out with."

"Will do."

 

 

 

To prepare for the thing that is so amazingly epic that he himself can't even wrap his head around it (and seriously, Ryan wants to tell Michael, but it would ruin everything,) Ryan heads to the hardware store on Monday. 

"So, uh, I kinda need portable lights. Like, portable Christmas lights." He tells one of the employees walking around. "I mean, lights that you don't need to hook up to an electric socket to make them work."

"You mean closed-circuit lights."

"Yeah, those thingies."

Ryan takes the bus back from his house, and it feels oddly silent without Michael next to him. His mind wanders to what Brandon said, but Ryan forces it to black out, because if he's still thinking about it, tomorrow's going to suck royally. So he just shuts down that part of his brain, something Ryan only does in emergency situations, and focuses on anything else but that. 

The campus is basically empty, and Ryan has enough space in his dorm to get to work on his bike. When he's satisfied with the results, he fills his tires with extra air and flops down on his bed, conking out immediately from his flight.

He dreams about Michael for the first time since they met. Michael's all in white, and he looks like some angel or something as he walks across the green to Ryan. Ryan smiles and takes his hand, leaning forward and kissing him. He says something he can't quite recall the next morning.

All Ryan remembers after that is Michael saying "yes" against his lips and kissing him back. 

 

 

 

At nine-fifty-seven precisely that Christmas Eve, Ryan clatters his bike down from the dorm and sets off down Michael's street. It starts to snow soft, big clumps as he pedals, and even though the roads are slightly icy, Ryan's sure he's not going to fall. 

His bike is decked out with the closed-circuit lights running all along it, making him look like a moving, bicycle-shaped Christmas tree. Ryan pulls to a stop in front of Michael's house, looking at the lit-up window of Michael's room. 

Grinning to himself, Ryan leans his bike up against a snow-covered tree and packs a handful of snow into a ball, then lobs it against Michael's window. He hears a muffled shriek and a curse, and a minute later, Michael steps out from inside his house. 

Ryan's heart starts pounding in his chest the moment he has time to fully absorb the boy in front of him, which is so cheesy but Ryan swears it really happens. Michael covers his mouth with his hand when he sees Ryan's bike, and his laughter carries across his yard to Ryan's ears. Ryan almost lets his eyes close, but Michael looks too good to waste time like that. 

"You're a fucking idiot." Michael calls to him, and Ryan just grins.

Michael turns to shut his door, and Ryan opens his front gate, going quickly up the steps. He holds out his arm to Michael, and Michael laughs again, slipping his arm through Ryan's. "The aluminum stallion awaits." Ryan says, and Michael smiles, looking right at him as they go down the steps. Ryan's suddenly very aware of Michael pressed all down his side, and how the streetlight is making his skin practically glow, and just how beautiful he looks right in that millisecond of time. Ryan wishes he had his camera, but he'd look too much like a creeper.

When Ryan clicks the gate closed behind him, Michael spins him around and kisses him, and Ryan just lets himself feel how soft his lips are compared to every other person he's ever kissed in his entire life. "Hey." Michael says as he pulls away, and Ryan slips his arms around his waist, pressing him back against the handlebars of his bike. 

"Uh-huh?"

Michael reaches down and unbuttons his coat, one by one. 

When he holds it open, Ryan sees that he's wearing a white, long-sleeved v-neck, with an actual medical-manual-illustration of a heart over the left side of his chest. "Just this one fucking time, consider this your Christmas present."

"Holy shit, you look so hot in that color, god, I want to put you in a fucking wedding dress." Ryan breathes, and kisses Michael again before he can say anything else.

Michael eventually swings a leg over the back of his bike and Ryan sets off for the Practical Cat Nightclub, smiling to himself just at the feel of Michael's arms wrapped around him. The snow is falling down harder now, fluffy clumps everywhere. "Alright, Bond James Bond, where the hell are we going?" Michael says into his ear as they pass the university. Ryan stops at a red and looks back at Michael.

"It would be so unfair to both you and me if I told you, so nope."

Michael gripes and calls him an assbutt, but pretty soon, Ryan stops at the street corner a couple blocks away and helps Michael off the bike. "You're so fucking chivalrous today." Michael observes, raising an eyebrow, and in response, Ryan wraps his arms around Michael's waist, picks him up, and kisses him. 

Michael's soft laughter into his mouth just makes that persistent warmth bloom through Ryan's chest, even though he should feel so cold. "What the fuck happened to you in Florida? Heat wave mess with your brain?" Michael says as Ryan lets him down, still smiling. Ryan leads him down the block, the strings of lights along the streets passing above them as they near the Practical Cat.

"Okay, well…" Ryan bites his lip, looking over at Michael. "You'd better be fucking supportive and not, like, laugh in my face."

"Yeah, whatevs. Get on with it."

"Okay. Okay. I came out to my mom and dad. And they said they were, like, three hundred percent behind me."

Michael stops in his tracks, just looking at Ryan, the Christmas lights above him reflecting off his eyes and casting little stationary strobes over his skin. 

"High fucking five." Michael breathes, holding up his palm, and Ryan gives it a good slap. "Honey, I'm so proud of you."

"Shut up, shut up." Ryan says, blushing. He tries to ignore what happens to his heartbeat when Michael calls him that. "But anyway, so I guess they were like, okay with it. I mean, as okay with it as parents can get."

"No, seriously, I am fucking proud of you, though." Michael slips his arm through Ryan's as they stop at the crosswalk, shivering. "That kind of thing takes guts, you strong assbutt. You're so lucky they're okay with it."

"It's just… " Ryan watches the lights pass above them as the white WALK sign flashes. "You know, in TV shows and stuff, they just make it look so fucking easy. And in real life, you're just like, oh shit how am I supposed to even put this… " 

Ryan trails off when he sees the Practical Cat Nightclub right at the other end of the crosswalk, and he stops. Michael looks over at him. "Hey. Tell me what the sign in front of Practical Cat says."

Michael frowns, but he cranes his neck. "The Wallflowers Reunion Tour 2013, Christmas Eve night only… " Michael stops, and Ryan can just hear the realization wash over him. "Holy shit."

"Merry Christmas, Michael." Ryan says, grinning. 

Michael just stares at him, breathing hard.

"You… this… you… "

"Yeah."

"Come here." Michael whispers, and he slides his arms around Ryan and kisses him there, in the middle of the street, and when the light turns green and the crosswalk empties and all the cars start honking for them to move, they don't, because Ryan just wants to stay there like that forever.

Eventually, Michael pulls away, cheeks flushed from the cold, and Ryan kisses the tip of his nose. Michael laughs. "Come on, we're not gonna get a good spot if we don't hurry the fuck up." Ryan tells him, and they dash off the crosswalk, Michael still laughing. Ryan shows the tickets on his phone to the guy at the door and he waves them through.

Michael squeals the moment he gets into the club, because the band is already setting up on the stage at the back and a small crowd has gathered. They throw their coats on a random bar stool. "Oh god, oh god, I'm going to fucking hyperventilate that is Jakob Dylan, oh god hold me."

They take a spot at the back of the crowd where they can see the Wallflowers pretty well, and more people come in behind them soon enough. The lights in the club switch off and the band starts off their setlist. A single spotlight rests on Jakob Dylan, then more and more gradually flick on until the entire band is lit up. "Oh my fucking god, they're doing One Headlight, I'm dead, I'm dead." Michael chokes, grabbing Ryan's arm and squeezing it. 

The band plays through about five more songs, Michael singing along louder and louder with each one, and midway through, Jakob Dylan stops and grabs the mic. "I wanna thank you all for coming to see The Wallflowers tonight." The audience roars its approval, and he smiles, waving to them. 

"Thank you all. This next song is dedicated to being in love."

The band immediately strikes up a melody that Ryan remembers Michael playing for him in Angel Vacuum, and it suddenly seems like forever ago. "OH. MY. GOD." Michael says in his ear, fingers gripping Ryan's arm. He reaches down blindly and grabs Ryan's hand. "Oh god, it's Sixth Avenue Heartache, oh my god, Ryan, Ryan, WHAT IS LIFE?!" Michael suddenly yells, twisting Ryan's shirt sleeve in his fingers. "WHAT IS LIFE?!"

"Dear lord." Ryan mutters, but Michael just lifts their hands up, still clasped together, and sways them along with the rest of the crowd. When Ryan looks next to him, Michael's lips are moving in time with the lyrics, the lights illuminating his face.

In that second, Ryan just sears Michael into his vision, just lets his brain process what it wants to process and really _look_. Michael's white shirt has a surprisingly different effect, making him look like he's glowing, in a fucked-up Messiah way, but maybe it's just because Ryan's used to seeing him all in black. His eyeliner is smudged slightly like it always is, but Ryan just notices it more tonight, everything is more acutely defined, everything is lit up. 

Michael turns to him and smiles, wiping at his eyes. "I think I'm fucking crying, but I want you to tell me if I am, because I can't see through my tears." 

"Yeah, you are, you dipshit." Michael laughs, the end turning into a hitching sob. 

Something bubbles up in Ryan and he kisses Michael's cheek, slinging his arm around his waist and pulling him closer. Michael's head rests on his shoulder as he sings along, breath catching slightly. 

"I got my fingers crossed on a shooting star… " Michael starts really crying, and Ryan holds him tighter, swaying him gently to the beat and just letting himself feel how warm Michael is, and the way his warmth is now seeping into his heart. 

Jakob Dylan launches into the final chorus, and by then, Michael's face is buried in his shoulder and he's sobbing. Ryan looks up at the spotlights above them.

He wants this small and powerful piece of time to be recorded in history, when the realization that you're completely in love finally clicks into place for the first time, and the person you're completely in love with is right there next to you when you realize it. Because it's a natural phenomenon, and it'll only happen once in a lifetime, if at all. 

The guitarist plays through his last riff and Jakob Dylan thanks the crowd again, wishing them a merry Christmas and a good night. The lights of the stage shut off and the lights of the club flick on. Michael looks like an emotional wreck, clinging onto Ryan's arm and getting through the last of his cryfest. "Fucking hell. That killed me. That, right there, that is fucking death."

Ryan laughs quietly, and inside he's hoping that Michael won't pull away from him. Michael doesn't, and by the time they get outside, the cold blast of air enveloping their bodies, they're already kissing. 

The snow is falling even harder, and there are actual carolers wandering around the streets. It's around eleven o'clock, and the next bus is scheduled to come in two minutes, but it's early, and Ryan thinks that maybe the buses aren't so prejudiced against him, after all. 

The bus ride back to Michael's is basically a who-can-remain-the-least-horny contest, and when they finally pull up a couple blocks away, Michael just drags him off and starts making out with him as soon as the bus drives off. "House. Now." 

Somehow, they make it down three blocks without any removed clothing, and when Michael pushes open the door of his house, Ryan just grabs him from behind and starts biting down his neck. Michael's laughter echoes in the now-empty space, Ben gone for Christmas. "Upstairs, assbutt."

Michael sheds his coat as they rush up to the second floor, and Ryan can't help but stare at his ass as he heads up the stairs, and how the white of his shirt just makes it seem rounder, somehow, and when they get to the top, he grabs Michael and backs him into his bedroom until he's pressed against the wall. Michael laughs softly as Ryan gropes over his ass, hands roaming everywhere as he kisses Michael.

"You're a raging pervert."

"No, you're just ridiculously sexy." Ryan counters, one hand sliding over Michael's thigh and hitching it around his hip. 

"Too many clothes." Michael gasps as Ryan sucks hard on his throat. "Too many fucking clothes."

"We can fix that."

"Do tell." Michael giggles as Ryan shoves the hem of his shirt up and over his head, bending his neck immediately and kissing over Michael's collarbone. "Now you, asshole, don't hide those abs from me."

Ryan makes his best smexy face, wiggling his eyebrows as he rips his shirt dramatically off. Michael dissolves into laughter, and Ryan catches his open mouth in a kiss, hands moving to Michael's belt and undoing it quickly. Michael's pants slip off his hips and Ryan groans when he sees Michael's not wearing underwear. "You were commando that entire time? You're cruel." 

Michael just raises an eyebrow and palms him through his jeans. Ryan makes a noise that could be used against him as ringtone material. "Off." Ryan complies, wiggling out of his jeans and his boxers in record time and swinging Michael around to push him back onto the bed.

Michael's thigh hitches over his hip again and Ryan leans down to kiss him, tongue slipping easily into Michael's mouth. Michael kisses back just as hard, one arm winding around Ryan's neck as he closes his eyes. 

Ryan moves down to kiss a trail down Michael's neck, Michael moaning softly as he sucks at his collarbone. "Shit, Ryan." Ryan reaches down and tangles his fingers with Michael's, bringing their hands up to rest on the pillow next to Michael's head. 

Leaning up to kiss him again, Ryan lets his other hand travel between Michael's legs, one finger pressing against his entrance. Michael's breath stutters out of him and he gasps when Ryan pushes it in, sucking on his bottom lip. Ryan adds another one and rubs, the resulting moan almost too much for him to handle. 

Ryan pulls back and looks down at Michael, breathing hard. "Okay?"

Michael nods, not breaking his gaze. "Okay."

"You are beautiful." Ryan tells him, and Michael is certainly stunned into silence. Ryan drops his head back down to suck gently at the soft skin just under his ear, one hand sliding up Michael's thigh and bringing it around his waist.

When he pushes inside him, Michael moans and his legs squeeze tighter around Ryan, their hands still tangled together. Ryan kisses down his jaw as he thrusts forward and Michael moans again, head tipping back against the pillow. 

Ryan settles into some rhythm, Michael's pants and gasps in time with his own. Michael's leg hitches up higher as Ryan starts to speed up, sucking hard on the other side of his neck. "Ryan." Michael moans when Ryan thrusts deeper, and Ryan can feel himself getting close, so he slams his hips harder and faster into Michael. Michael gasps, squeezing Ryan's hand in his own. 

"Ryan, fuck, Ryan, yes yes yes yes _yes,_ oh, oh shit." Michael moans, the end trailing off into a soft sigh. Ryan can feel him tightening around him and that just pushes him to where he has to be, and he comes inside Michael, groaning and pressing as deep into him as he can.

"Fuck." Ryan breathes, pulling out. Michael's legs part and he just falls, muscles dead. Michael's breathing is heavy and the hand on the pillow runs through Ryan's hair, over and over again, almost like he's used to it. 

"Hold on, lemme wash the fuck up, gimme thirty seconds." Michael whispers after a minute of just lying there and shuddering and panting. Ryan nods, shifting to let Michael get up. Water runs in the bathroom and Michael comes back out.

The way he's looking at Ryan, like he's just meeting him, is a little overwhelming, since Ryan's not all that used to being looked at like that. Michael slips under the covers next to him, and Ryan can feel the heat of his body as Michael holds up one end of the blanket for him. 

Michael shifts onto his side, and Ryan takes the hint, because he's a little cold, too.

He throws an arm around Michael's waist under the covers and pulls him back into his chest, pressing his lips into Michael's hair. Michael makes a soft sound and takes Ryan's hand, their legs tangling together. 

Michael looks over his shoulder, a small smile on his face, and Ryan just presses forward and kisses him. He slides his palm over the curve of Michael's hip and back as he closes his eyes, and for some reason, all he can see behind his eyelids is Michael's face.

Michael pulls away and Ryan feels his eyes start to close of tiredness this time, and he falls asleep to the soft beating of Michael's heart.

 

 

 

At one the next day, Ryan grudgingly pulls his eyelids open, only to snap them closed again when he feels the body pressed against him, Michael still holding onto his hand. Michael's still asleep, chest slowly rising and falling, and Ryan separates their bodies as carefully as he can, the rush of cold air hitting him right away. 

The snow is piled up in Michael's front yard, and it has to be at least a foot deep. Ryan watches a pair of birds land on the fence, staring down curiously at this new white substance, as he attempts to make coffee. Ben's machine is some weird German thing with about a million buttons.

He hears a noise from the door and turns to see Michael rubbing at his eyes, looking, frankly, like a hot mess. "Well, the zombie arises."

Michael just flips him off as he staggers over to the counter, bumping Ryan's hip with his own. Michael's hip is a little too bony for this action, though, and Ryan's pretty sure there's going to be a bruise there. "Coffee? Food?"

"Both. Gimme a second." Ryan punches a random red button on the thing and about a gallon of hot water sloshes out of it. "Um."

"How about I handle breakfast, and you stay the fuck away from that machine." Michael offers, smiling sleepily. 

"I agree with that, quite strongly."

Michael can work the coffee machine like he's some barista, which infuriates Ryan, and the smell of roasted beans fills the room. He goes to the kitchen cabinet above the sink and pulls out three boxes of cereal. "Lucky Charms, Trix, and Froot Loops. Jesus, Ben."

"I'm feeling Lucky Charms."

Michael sets the box down on the table, shaking his head. "See, this here, this is like, fucking objectification of the youthful, pre-pubescent mind. How is a piece of goddamn saturated fat-loaded, sugar-infused cereal going to be fucking lucky in any way? It pisses me off."

Ryan just looks up at Michael, trying to hold it in, and Michael raises an eyebrow. "What, were you fooled by the masses as a child? Oh, if I eat this cereal, maybe I'll meet fucking Santa today- "

Michael doesn't get to finish his denunciation of breakfast cereal, because Ryan pulls him down into his lap and kisses him, trying to focus on anything else but his stupid rabbit heartbeat. Michael laughs into his mouth and presses one palm to Ryan's chest. "Hold on, fucker, I actually have a legit Christmas present. Not just, like, something I'm wearing."

"Ooh. Gimme." 

"Stay." Michael tells him, holding both hands up as he backs away. "Brb."

He hears a thud from Michael's room and a muffled cuss, but Michael comes down in one piece and holding a tissue-wrapped package. "You can't laugh, or you're automatically an asshole."

"I thought I already was an asshole." Ryan says, pulling Michael back into his lap as he takes the present.

"I mean the bad kind. Open it, open it."

Ryan peels back the tissue paper, which looks suspiciously from Victoria's Secret. "Is this…"

"It was all Chrissie had, okay, just open the damn present."

Ryan shakes off the last of the pink wrapping and out falls… a scarf and gloves.

"I fucking made them myself, okay, because I stole yours and I felt kinda bad so here." Michael mutters. "And you'd better fucking wear them."

Ryan smiles, sliding his hand onto Michael's hip. "You made these?"

"Yeah, that thing I was reading in the library that I didn't want you to see was a Knitting for Dummies kind of thing." 

"I love them." Ryan says, and then he leans forward and kisses Michael's cheek. Michael squirms and calls him a doucheface, and Ryan can feel how hot his cheek is under his lips. "You're awesome."

"Um, yeah, I fucking am. Those things take so much work." Michael takes the scarf from Ryan and lays it out across his lap. It's lumpy, and Ryan can see where Michael had to tie off the yarn, and it's not all the same color, and it looks like Michael just kind of gave up at the end and started sewing in the air, but it's still something that he made. And even though it's so cheesy, it's true. It's the thought that counts. Ryan can practically see Michael sitting on his bed, late at night, with a ball of yarn in his lap and his knitting needles clicking away, and calling the string an asshole whenever he messes up.

"No, I'm serious. I can't believe you actually got through this without, like, ripping the yarn apart when you messed up."

"Well… "

Ryan laughs, and Michael just grins and twists the scarf around on his lap, and Ryan pulls him closer, kissing his cheek again. "Okay, I'm gonna bring these back to my dorm. Join me."

 

 

 

"Ryan's dooooorm… " Michael sings like he's at the opera when they come through the doors. Ryan's suitcase is lying on the bed and his computer whirs at his desk. His boxers and dirty clothes from the past couple weeks that he forgot to pack are piled up in the corner. "Is fucking disgustiiiiing… "

"Oh, shut up." Ryan mutters, hip-checking Michael out of the way. "Bathroom." Michael says, and he disappears. 

Ryan flips open his computer and opens his Gmail. 

There's a message from Luke Drummond in his inbox, and Ryan's stomach drops when he sees the subject line: Re-Initiation into Phi Epsilon.

Ryan listens for a second to make sure Michael's not going to come out of the bathroom anytime soon, and he clicks the email, hand cold and stiff.

 

Hey Ryan, 

Drew and I have been thinking over your DUI and your community service, and we decided that it's about time to let you back into Phi Epsilon. But you know our reputation: we only accept the finest students of the highest social standing. That guy you're doing the service with? Not so much. I hope you know about him.

So Drew and I will make you a nice little deal. We'll waive the rest of your community service and let you back in for Phi Epsilon's 2014 membership if you get rid of that little faggot, but it has to be in the most fucking hilarious way you can think of. Maybe even fucking tape it, I don't know. Like say you'll take him to our end-of year party, then publicly pull a Brendan. You remember what he did to Casey, do it to Michael and you're in. Just make it public, make it hilarious, and ditch his gay ass. 

This offer will not be extended to you twice, and if I receive no reply, I'll assume that you've turned it down. I suggest you take advantage of the situation.

Luke Drummond  
Phi Epsilon, President, University of Michigan Class of 2014  
234-449-9667

 

Ryan's heart has almost stopped beating by the time he's done reading the email.

But he doesn't even have time to think about what the hell just ended up in his inbox as he clicks the reply button, because the bathroom door opens and Ryan just slams his computer shut. Michael raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't say anything about it. 

Ryan bites his lip and flops down on his bed, pulling Michael on top of him and sliding his coat off. Michael leans down as Ryan presses on his lower back so they can kiss, one hand running through Ryan's hair. "Hey." He mutters against Ryan's lips.

"Yup."

"Um… " Michael sits back, still straddling Ryan. Ryan follows him, leaning against the headboard. "I was. I. Um." He makes a frustrated noise. "Oh, fuck it, okay, I was wondering if you wanted to come to Times Square with me. For 2014."

Ryan's head is spinning too much, and he doesn't exactly hear what Michael says at first. "Oh. Yeah, sure." He says quietly, one hand running down Michael's back. "Where's Andy's apartment again?"

Michael seems to think something's up, but he doesn't show it. "Lemme show you." He goes over to Ryan's computer. "Um, password?"

"Lowercase c carter347, no spaces." Ryan says without thinking.

It occurs to him that his email is still up.

And the little reply box is up, as well.

Ryan sits bolt upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, but it's too late, judging by the expression on Michael's face.

"Wait." Ryan says, voice cracking slightly when Michael turns to him. His eyes have darkened to a brown that looks more like straight black, and his pupils are blown wide. "Wait- "

"Is this." Michael motions mechanically to the computer. He's looking at Ryan like he just killed someone. "You."

"No, Michael, no, it's not what it looks like… " Ryan stands quickly, putting his hands up in front of him. "It's not… " 

Michael looks down, seeming a little disoriented. "No, you… he… "

Ryan reaches for Michael's hand, heart pounding, but Michael jerks it away, what he just read really starting to settle in. "Michael, please- "

"No, I trusted you, I trusted you, no- " Michael's face is darkening, and he takes a step away. Ryan follows him desperately. 

Then, he says the worst thing he could possibly say in that situation.

"Michael, please, don't worry about it, it's nothing- "

Michael looks up at him, and Ryan's heart stops.

Then he just explodes.

"OH, OKAY, DON'T FUCKING WORRY ABOUT IT! JUST FORGET EVERYTHING I EVER DID FOR YOU! WAS THIS YOUR PLAN ALL ALONG, FUCKER?! YOU'RE A REAL FUCKING BAD ASSHOLE NOW, AREN'T YOU?! HA, I'M GONNA HOP IN THE SACK WITH THAT SLUT MICHAEL AND SEE HOW THINGS GO FROM THERE, THEN I'M GONNA DITCH HIS ASS FOR MY DICKHEAD FRIENDS! THAT'S JUST HOW THINGS WORK AROUND HERE, HUH?!" Michael looks like he's ready to stab him, and he shoves Ryan back. Ryan can't even think, what Michael's saying is just hitting him again and again, over and over. 

"BET YOU THINK THIS IS ALL GOOD FUCKING FUN! HA HA HA! SEE, I'M FUN, RYAN! YOU WANNA GO HAVE SOME FUN?! OR ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING ABOVE THAT?! WAS I EVEN ANYTHING TO YOU?!" Michael keeps laughing hysterically, eyes rolling back in his head. "I'M JUST AN INSANE, DRUG-ADDICTED SLUT WITHOUT A FAMILY, IS THAT IT?! ARE YOU TOO GOOD FOR ME NOW, MOTHERFUCKER?!" 

Michael just stares at him, breathing hard, and he wipes at his eyes. "God fucking dammit. I hate you, I wish I never met you, you're just like everyone else. Fuck you."

"Michael." Ryan tries, voice cracking again, but he doesn't even know what he's trying for. "It's not- "

"No. No. You ruined everything. Fuck you." Michael's breath hitches and he pushes past Ryan, grabbing his jacket. "You fucking ruined everything, you're an asshole. Fuck you."

Then, Michael's gone, door slamming and shattering the deathly silence that follows him.

 

 

 

For an entire twenty-four hours afterward, Ryan asks himself one question: why.

Why was he not smart enough to close the email. Why did Michael have to go over to the computer. Why did he have to give the stupid fucking password. Why did Michael not give him a chance to explain it. Why should Michael give him a chance to explain it. Why is everything the way it is.

He doesn't know who to be angry at, Michael or himself. Michael really didn't give him a chance, but once again, why should he? You're just like everyone else, Michael told him, and Ryan's starting to believe it.

He feels numb, cold, and he's not crying, he's not laughing, he's not really doing much of anything except replaying Michael going over to his computer in his head, and the look on his face when he saw the screen.

As Michael's showed him, it's sad how quickly you can hate someone, as opposed to how long it can take to love.

 

 

 

Michael told him he was going to leave on the 28th before the Thing happened, and that day, Ryan's filled with something like desperation, only with more emphasis on the desperate part.

He sits at his computer, just surfing through whatever, nothing really matters to him, and what Brandon said suddenly blasts into his brain. Ryan actually jumps. 

_"There can't be anything wrong with falling in love in the first place, because if there was, why would something like that even exist?"_

"Oh, goddamn you, everyone." Ryan whispers to himself, closing his eyes. 

Maybe he just needs to say it, just say it, and then his head will clear and he'll actually fucking do something about it. 

"Michael, I love you." Ryan mutters under his breath, eyes still closed, but that doesn't do anything, so he stands, saying it a little louder. "Michael, I love you. I love you, I love you, I'm sorry, I love you."

Ryan stomps his foot and screams, "MICHAEL, I LOVE YOU! I'M SORRY! I LOVE YOU!"

He doesn't expect Michael to hear him, hundreds of miles away on his bus to New York City, but he just needs to get things straight with himself. Ryan dashes out into the hall, into the empty silence, and throws his arms up. "MICHAEL! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!"

His knees fail him before his voice does and Ryan slumps back against the wall, sliding down until he's just sitting on the floor. He feels like he's going to break down any second.

But what Brandon said keeps coming back to him, and that's when it hits Ryan.

_Well, it's always worth a try, I have to try._

Things aren't going to get any worse than they are, so there's no point in screaming to his empty dorm when he could be screaming to Michael, there's no point in wishing that Michael was right there with him when he's not.

Ryan gets up, gripping at the wall corner and swinging himself around it. He furiously types in yeahyeahyeahs.com in the web address bar and taps his foot as it loads. The news headline "Yeah Yeah Yeahs Scheduled for Times Square New Year's 2014" is highlighted at the top, and Ryan clicks Email. It redirects to his own, composed automatically to yyys@yeahyeahyeahs.com.

Ryan takes a deep breath and just types.

 

From: ryan.lochte@gmail.com  
To: yyys@yeahyeahyeahs.com

Hey Karen, Nick, and Brian,

I'm Ryan, I'm a freshman at UMichigan, and I'm in love with this guy named Michael, but he just got really pissed at me because I was a jerk to him and I feel like a piece of shit. He's going to NYC for New Year's, and I was wondering if you guys could play Wedding Song (which is freaking awesome) at your performance, because that's like his favorite song ever. I know it's a ton to ask, but it would mean a lot and he might forgive me but I'm not really sure. 

Thanks. I love your stuff too, btw, It's Blitz should have gotten the Grammy. 

 

He doesn't even read over it twice, just presses send and moves on to his next task. Ryan feels like his adrenaline has completely replaced his blood, which is probably accurate, as he calls Andy.

"Hey, Ryan. I heard." Andy says grimly when he picks up. 

"I know, please, please, please don't tell Michael I asked you this, Andy, but I really need to know where you guys are going to be during that New Year's performance for apology purposes and I just really need you to overlook whatever Michael told you and just- "

"Dude. Chill. Don't worry, I think I get what you're doing." Andy sounds a little surprised. "But be warned, this is so fucking risky. Like, you could end up dead and thrown in a trash can if you say the wrong thing." 

"I know. I know."

"Anyway, we're not going to be right in the thick of it because Michael thinks everyone in the crowd's going to have herpes, so we'll be standing right on the edge of forty-second street where we can still hear the music. Do you, uh, need me to disappear at a completely random and in no way predetermined time?"

"Um… how about I call you at that completely random and in no way predetermined time?"

"Sure, sure. I know pretty much all of the guards, tell them you're there for Andy Holmes and they'll let you in."

"Thank you, thank you so fucking much. I gotta go, but thank you so much."

"Anytime."

Ryan hangs up and goes to the Tripper Bus website, where, like an angel dropped it in front of him, there's a hyperlink that says Last-Minute Tickets to NYC: $50 Each!!! Ryan makes a noise and slams the trackpad down on purchase, and immediately and email pops up in his inbox that thanks him for choosing Tripper Bus.

The bus leaves on the thirty-first, at approximately seven-thirty PM.

Ryan can't say he didn't try.

 

 

 

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you for riding Tripper Bus. Welcome to New York City. Our drop off is at thirty-fourth and Union Square, and if you're here for the New Year's festivities, I recommend you take the A, C, or E uptown. "

Ryan scrambles off the bus, shouting a thank-you back to the driver, and starts fast-walking toward forty-second Street, because it's already 11:40 and he can hear the New Year's partiers all the way from where he is. The streets are packed and it's almost impossible to move, and on top of that, a soft snow is coming down, not huge and fluffy like Michigan's, but it's still snow and everyone's freaking out. 

He's basically jogging when he gets to thirty-ninth street, pushing past the fucking massive waves of people and muttering "excuse me"s to many times to count. Ryan crosses to the less-crowded side and watches the city lights pass above him as he runs, eyes trained on the black night sky.

Ryan's not the religious type, but in that moment, he prays to every god that he's ever heard of that Michael will listen. 

After what seems like forever, and the New York blocks aren't exactly fun to navigate on December thirty-first, he reaches the outer corner of forty-second street. It looks even more congested than the others he passed. People are crowded _everywhere_ , their buzzing, shouting voices blocking his train of thought. Ryan whips out his phone and dials Andy's number. 

He picks up on the first ring. "Need me to move now?"

Ryan hears Michael shouting "Who's that?!" in the background and closes his eyes just at the sound of his voice. "Thanks, Andy."

"You're a good kid, Ryan. I wish you luck."

"I"m gonna need it." Ryan wants to say something else but a policeman looks at him and he hangs up, going over to him. "Hi. Um, Andy Holmes is waiting for me in there."

"Is that who you were just on the phone with?"

"Yeah."

The policeman sighs, and Ryan's life and love is depending on what he says.

"Alright, get in here."

All the breath whooshes out of Ryan's lungs and he feels like hugging the policeman as he pushes past, but there's no time for that, because when he checks the clock on his phone, it's already 11:50. "Fuck." He says, looking desperately around. The far end of the street where he's popped out is less crowded, and the back only has about twenty people scattered around.

Then, he sees Michael, standing there and looking lost and angry and beautiful, and Ryan feels what he knows is love just bloom through his entire body. 

Michael's head turns and his eyes widen when he sees Ryan. He shakes his head, rage building visibly as he stalks toward Ryan, and Ryan's so not prepared and so terrified and so amazed all at the same time that, somehow, in this vast, unforgiving city, he found Michael. 

"YOU!" Michael screams, and a few people turn toward them, but Ryan doesn't care, because the way the lights and stars are passing over Michael just make him want to fall in love all over again. "YOU ASSHOLE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE, YOU ASSHOLE?!"

Ryan just opens his mouth and everything comes out when Michael reaches him, breathing hard. "Michael, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wasn't going to follow up on what Luke said, please, you have to trust me- "

Michael makes an angry noise, breath clouding in the air. "How can you show your fucking face in front of me, motherfucker, how- "

He's interrupted by Ryan just reaching forward and taking his hand and kissing him. Michael sputters and pushes at his chest, getting angrier by the second. "I know, I know, but I'm here, and I'm so sorry, but I have to- "

Michael tries to jerk away, but Ryan holds onto his sleeve. "Shut the fuck up, I hate you, I hate you- "

In that moment, Ryan hears, somehow in the distance, "Ladies and gentleman, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs!"

A familiar beat throbs through Times Square, and Ryan freezes, still clutching Michael's arm.

"Michael, listen, listen- "

"NO!" Michael yells, pushing at him, but Ryan holds on for all he's worth. "I hate you! I fucking hate you! "

"No, no, _listen_."

Michael stops struggling to stare at him, and in the silence, Karen O's voice rings out. "This is for Michael! Michael, I don't know where the hell or who the hell you are, but this is from Ryan to you!"

Then she starts into the first verse of Wedding Song, and their mouths fall open at the same time. 

Michael turns to him, eyes blown wide, and Ryan's pretty sure he looks the same. "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! YOU ACTUALLY GOT THEM TO PLAY IT?! RYAN, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

"HOLY SHIT! I DIDN'T THINK THEY'D ACTUALLY DO IT! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" Ryan screams back, feeling like jumping up and down and thanking the gods for answering his fucking prayer and kissing Michael all at once. 

Michael's mouth closes and he swallows, putting up both his hands. "Okay, fuck, okay, just let me…" He bites his lip, wiping at his eyes. "Shit. Ryan. Shit."

"Michael…"

"No, shut up. I have to fucking tell you something, so shut up." Michael looks up at him, eyes starting to water. Ryan decides to shut up, because if his instincts are right Michael's about to launch into something that could possibly be life-changing.

"Ryan, you're kind of one of the, like, four people who've ever been nice to me, and every time you fucking look at me and then say something like 'Michael, you're so hot,' or like 'Michael, you're so weird, but you pull it off,' that just gets me in the fucking heart every time, okay? It starts pounding super fucking fast and I want to tell you but I can't, and it's like you plan this stuff out, you know?" Michael's breath is a little shaky, and he wipes at his eye again. Ryan can't even breathe, just lets his brain take in what Michael's saying. 

"And, I mean, my entire life I have been fucking alone, okay, I have never been in love with anyone, ever, in nineteen fucking years. But then you come along and you just… " Michael makes a helpless motion with his arms, looking like he's ready to start really crying. "You just sweep me off my fucking feet and you make me feel like there's things still worth trying to find on this shitty earth." 

Michael looks up at him, into his eyes. "And I mean, I thought I could just go on like that for the rest of my life, just without loving anybody because I was so scared, and I'd be fine, but then you and I got thrown together and I just… I just wanted to fucking _hang out_ with you all the time, and that's just so not normal for me, and Ryan, you say I'm amazing but really it was all you, and you followed me six hundred miles to this stupid goddamn city and I don't know what I'm supposed to fucking do." Michael shakes his head, making the same helpless motion. Ryan's heart is pounding so hard he can hear it, pulsing through his ears. 

"But here I am, and you probably hate me and I think I hate you, but I also think I might be in love with you, and- "

Ryan closes his eyes, heart skipping a beat altogether. "Michael, I- "

"No, oh god, I'm going to fucking start crying because you're here and I just- " 

"Michael, you need to listen. Listen to what I'm saying. I'm sorry." Ryan takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Michael's mouth opens slightly and he stares up at Ryan, that helpless expression on his face again. "What? No, I can't, I can't. What, no… "

Ryan steps toward him. "Michael, I'm sorry."

A tear is starting to trace its way down Michael's cheek. "I… what… " 

"I love you." 

Ryan looks right into Michael's eyes, and Michael's face will be in his mind forever, the lights shining down on them and the tear on his cheek and just Michael, in all the dirty grit and awful unfair things of the world, Michael.

"Oh, Ryan." Michael breathes. "Fuck this."

Then he kisses Ryan, arms sliding around his neck, and Ryan feels like he's going to cry himself as his knees weaken and he holds Michael, kissing him like this will be the last one, even though the thought that it probably won't be is starting to make its way into his spinning head.

Michael pulls away first, breath stuttering out of him and tears running down his cheeks, and Ryan holds him tighter. Michael's face is buried in his shoulder, shaking slightly in Ryan's arms. 

"I love you. You're going to be okay, I'm going to make sure you're okay, you're going to be fine, I promise. I love you and I'm going to be there for you." Ryan whispers to him, kissing his hair. "Michael, you are what's worth living for, and I don't know if you remember, but you told me I'd find it one day and I think I just did."

Michael shifts closer to him, one hand gripping his other shoulder and one pressed gently against his chest, and Ryan can hear him crying. 

"You are so beautiful. You are so amazing. You are so beautiful and I love you, and no one's ever going to call you a slut or anything ever again, because I'm going to be there to kick their ass."

Michael pulls away, looking into his face, and he smiles, sniffling. "Ryan, what are we even doing?" He kisses Ryan at the end. "I love you. I love you so much." Michael says, still kissing him, and Ryan's heart feels like it's going to shatter from how fast it's beating.

Ryan laughs shakily, kissing Michael's cheek. "I don't really know. I don't really care what I'm doing, I just want you with me. I found you and I'm not going to let you go."

"No, asshole, I found _you_." Michael murmurs, and Ryan just hugs him tighter. Because no matter how hard he tries, he knows that no, he's not going to let Michael go.

"Okay."

"Okay." Michael says back, another tear spilling down his face. Ryan kisses it before it reaches his lips, then he kisses them, tasting the salt and something sweeter, something like hot toddies and baked Alaskas. "Ryan."

"Yeah." Ryan keeps kissing him, holding his arm closer around Michael's waist. 

"I think…" Michael takes a deep breath, touching their forehead together. "This is so screwy and so fucking cheesy, but you just need to know, so I think in the end, we're just two kids out of the billions more in this fucked-up world trying to get out alive." He looks into Ryan's eyes, laughing shakily. "And I guess… I know the only way I'm getting out alive is with you."

"God, Michael, I love you." Ryan breathes, and in the background, he hears the countdown from ten begin. Michael starts crying again, and Ryan just holds him as he shouts out the numbers, Michael joining him. 

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO!"

"One." Ryan whispers to Michael, and just as everyone screams happy New Year, he swings Michael up in his arms and holds him there as they kiss, Michael's arms slipping back around his neck. One hand tangles in his hair and tips Ryan's head back as Michael deepens the kiss, murmuring "I love you" over and over again against Ryan's lips until it becomes as ingrained into Ryan's memory as the sound of blood pumping through his veins into his heart.

When Ryan lets Michael down, their lips still pressed together, the people near them start clapping, and pretty soon, the entire block is applauding them. Michael just sobs, completely broken down by then, and buries his head in Ryan's shoulder. 

He looks back up at Ryan, a small smile on his face. "We still have nine hours left."

"And look at all the fucks I give." Ryan tells him, kissing the tip of his nose, and Michael's laughter sounds like heaven.

They file out of Times Square along with the rest of the people there, and Ryan finds that everyone else's face except for Michael's is a blur. It's just Michael, he feels like everything is and always will have some part of him. They board the train to Andy's apartment together, Michael's hand still tangled in Ryan's, and the people in the car don't smile, don't clap, just look. Ryan knows what they're seeing, and when he looks into Michael's eyes, he sees it, too.

Ryan makes Michael sit on his lap, and Michael grumbles and calls him an asshole, and they kiss all the way home.


End file.
